The VTones
by flashing lights
Summary: Sometimes, Specs thought that being a former child star could really screw a kid up. But then he'd look at Dutchy, and he was sure. [Slash. Co-written by studentnumber24601 and signpost. COMPLETE.]
1. One

The V-Tones 

_One._

He'd never been to high school. He'd only been to high school on TV. And the fact that the buildings on a real campus weren't just false fronts, and there was no director and no cameramen behind him, and the students streaming past weren't extras, had him a bit nervous. Except that "a bit" was an understatement.

Kristoff Ivanovitch, better known as Chris Ivers, and even better known as Dutchy, the character he'd played for the past six years, took a deep breath and stared with trepidation at the main school building. _Okay,_ he told himself. _You're an actor. Pretend you know what you're doing._

He paused to straighten up and to adjust the weight of the bag on his shoulders, but was abruptly jostled from behind. He started to react, then stopped; instead of him telling the jostler to watch where he was going, the kid barely paused as he streamed past to yell, "What the hell you stopping in the middle of the sidewalk for?!"

Well, _that_ was a slap in the face. He wasn't used to be brushed off like that. But then, he reminded himself, he also wasn't used to being in real life. He started walking again and thought to himself, _Enter, downstage center. Our hero looks confident in his new surrounding. He will walk in, and meet his new best friend. There will be wacky hijinks., it will be settled by the end of the episode._

If only. He walked into the school, and was faced with an open lobby, a cafeteria off to one side, a staircase, several hallways, and a great, teeming mass of high school students. He was supposed to go to the main office, wherever that was, but there was nothing helpful to direct him towards it. Well, aside from the students. He had almost worked up the courage to ask someone where the main office was when a bell sounded, and the chaos became even _more_ chaotic, and no one nearby was moving slowly enough for him to approach. He stared in dismay, and demanded of himself, _Where the hell is this stage-fright coming from?_ And with that in mind, stepped into the traffic and caught the nearest person's arm.

"Um, excuse me?"

Well, _that_ didn't sound as confident as he'd hoped.

"...Yeah?" The person sounded distinctly annoyed. He was about the same height as Chris, with intensely blue eyes and an ugly blue sweatshirt.

"Um, where's the main—" he started, but the second bell rang and the kid wandered off, late for class. Chris sighed in frustration, tossed his head to get his hair out of his eyes, and approached one of the other students, who seemed less concerned about being on time to class. He reminded himself that there was no reason for him to be nervous; people got nervous meeting _him._ Not the other way around.

Except that this wasn't a set. This was a real school. Where no one cared who he was. His mind tossed that idea right out, of course someone would care. He'd been a star for the last six years. It had only been a month since the last episode of his show had aired. So he told himself that he really _shouldn't_ be nervous, there was no reason for him to be nervous to talk to normal people, so he said with a little more confidence, "Excuse me?"

"What?" the kid asked, turning around to see who was bothering him.

"I was wondering if you could tell me where the—"

"Hey!" the kid interrupted. "You're... That guy, right?"

Chris straightened up a little. "Chris Ivers," he said, offering his hand. "I was on _Game On_ for awhile."

"Oh, yeah." The kid nodded. "I watched that when I was, like, _ten."_

He didn't actually wince. Well, he might have. That wasn't exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for. "Oh," he managed to say.

"Yeah, whatever happened to you?"

"I stayed on the show." He was no longer thrilled to be in the conversation, and was looking for a way to escape now.

"Uh, whatever happened to the show?"

Chris scowled. "It was canceled."

"Oh, that sucks. When?"

"Um. Last _month."_

"Oh." The kid paused, then started laughing, and actually pointing. It was like something out of one of the sketches Chris used to perform in. "You mean you were still on...?"

"Yes."

The kid just dissolved into laughter, muttered something about "dork!" and walked away, still amused.

That had definitely not been a heartening experience. And he _still_ didn't know where the office was. He didn't like feeling out of place like this, he didn't like feeling unsure, and he _really_ didn't like being surrounded by people who didn't recognize him. That was the toughest part to deal with.

It was almost hard to believe that seven years ago, he'd been totally unknown. Then had come the fateful audition, his three years as America's Darling on _Game On!_, a critically acclaimed children's variety show, and then three years as... well, a slightly older version of America's Darling, one who'd gone through puberty but wasn't quite old enough to be a real heart throb yet. And just as he _should_ have been entering genuine teen idol territory, the show had been canceled.

Just like that. Word came down from the network that the last two seasons had been weak (largely, he knew, because he was the only original cast member left and he just _couldn't_ carry the show alone, he wasn't _that_ talented) and the format just wasn't popular anymore. The mood of the country swung back towards plain sitcoms and while he _could_ probably have landed a part in one, he wanted to sing. Well, and dance, but dancing had never been his strong point. Singing was his true passion, followed by acting, and he really wasn't sure he was a good enough straight actor to get a part without the singing.

And besides, his timing was rotten. If he'd _left_ the show to look for something bigger, he'd have been fine; but no. The show was canceled, and as he really _had_ been the one holding it up, he looked pathetic for clinging to the sinking ship. And so, with cancellation, here he was. In a normal high school, as a normal student.

He really, really wasn't sure he could deal with that.

Chris was snapped from his reverie by a brusque voice saying, "Hall pass, please?" He looked around, suddenly realizing that while he had been staring at nothing, lost in thought, the rest of the students in the hall had sauntered off, either to class, or at least to someplace where they wouldn't get caught. And now the hall monitor—always heartless and evil in sketches, all Chris was familiar with—was standing next to him, holding out a hand for the expected pass.

"Uh," Chris said. "I don't have one—that is—it's my first day, and they said to go to the office but I haven't been able to _find_ it."

"Well, you should have asked someone," the hall monitor answered curtly.

Chris nodded weakly. That was like some sort of awful punchline. "Sorry," he mumbled unconvincingly.

"That way," the hall monitor said, and pointed farther down the hall. "First right, can't miss it."

He nodded, and made his escape in the direction the hall monitor had pointed, and the monitor left to harass someone else. But true to his word, the office was large, and labeled, and impossible to miss. He paused to collect himself, threw on his best charming smile, shifted his bag to his other shoulder, and sauntered into the office confidently.

The office was spacious, with a large curved island-style desk that was home to several secretaries, and doors to offices opening off from the three other walls. A line of chairs sat against the wall he'd just come in through, with a few nervous looking students sitting in them—people who were either late, or already in trouble, he reasoned. Only one of them looked calm, almost to the point of boredom, and something about him seemed oddly familiar.

Chris didn't pay much attention, though. He walked to the nearest secretary, a frumpy middle aged woman with short, permed hair, and draped his arm on the desk and leaned forward a little. "Excuse me," he said cheerfully. "I'm new here, and I'm afraid I'm late to class, but I'm not quite sure where to go."

She looked up from the computer she'd been fiddling at, annoyed, then her expression changed abruptly. She smiled back. "Well, well, well," she half-giggled. "You're Chris Ivers, aren't you? I used to watch your show with my daughter _every_ week, we just _love_ you."

_That_ was the kind of reaction he was used to, and this was familiar ground. He smiled back. "Thank you, Mrs.," he paused to glance at the name plate on her desk, "Jenkins. That means a lot to me, the show would never have worked without our _amazing_ fans."

There was a vaguely disgusted noise from one of the students in the back, which Chris ignored. Mrs. Jenkins actually blushed a little.

"Well," she said again. "We're just happy you chose _our_ school, Chris." She laughed. "Now, let's get your schedule worked out, shall we?"

"That would be _great."_

Same disgusted noise from the back. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw the same student he'd noticed before roll his eyes, then turned back to the secretary, who flipped through a few folders on her desk, and finally pulled out a sheath of papers and laid them on the counter. "Now, it looks like you've been placed in basic algebra and biology, right?"

"Yeah," he answered. He _hated_ math and science. He also hated that he'd placed so low in his entrance testing, because he should have been at least a sophomore, and instead was only a freshman. Being older than everyone else in his class, he was certain, wouldn't help make his life any easier. He was already, by default, far more mature from his years of experience.

"And you've got freshman English and US history; for electives we're looking at Advanced Theater and Chorus, of course." She smiled at him.

"Naturally." He shrugged with what was, obviously, very false modesty.

"Well, usually freshmen can't get into Advanced Theater, but of course they'd have made an exception for someone so _experienced."_ He started to respond to that, but she continued, "And here's your locker and homeroom assignments, and a map of campus to help you get around. Though I'm _sure_ anyone would be happy to help you out."

"Of course, uh, thanks."

"But for today, we've got you a bit of a tour guide. Oh, this is _too_ cute, Richard?" she called.

At the back of the room, the previously disgusted student got to his feet. He was a few years older and a bit taller than Chris, with curly brown hair and glasses. Chris studied him for a second, wondering why he'd looked familiar, and it clicked just as Mrs. Jenkins was about to introduce them.

"Chris, this is—"

"Richard Greensmith, right?" he interrupted.

Richard nodded. "Welcome back to real life," he answered flatly.

"Now, _Richard,_" Mrs. Jenkins scolded. "Richard has very kindly agreed to give you a tour of the campus this morning. We asked him _specially_—we thought you two might get along well."

"I'm sure we will," Chris replied easily, ignoring the fact that Richard looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. Chris shot another curious look at his guide; he hadn't seen Rich in five years.

Rich's show had been cancelled almost five years ago.

"Now, why don't you two scoot; Chris, you can stop by later if you have any questions," Mrs. Jenkins finished.

"Thanks, Mrs. J," he said cheerfully. Richard rolled his eyes again and led the way out of the office.

They stepped back into the hallway, letting the door close behind them, and Rich stopped abruptly enough that Chris nearly walked into him. "Look," Rich said as they started walking again, without turning around to address his companion, "let's make this as short and painless as possible. I don't want to reminisce. I don't talk about fame. You shouldn't either, because you'll get your ass kicked. And after we're done here, don't talk to me. Okay?"

Chris stopped walking again, and stared as Richard kept going, then hurried to catch up. "What?" he asked.

"You heard me."

"Oooh, aren't _we_ bitter about early cancellation?" Chris asked snidely.

"You say that like you weren't yanked off the air for _sucking."_

"Lasted longer than _you_ did."

"Because your show stole our best writers _and_ our choreographer, and I _said_ I don't want to talk about it."

"Stole? They begged to get off the sinking ship."

Richard stopped walking, turned around and glared. "Seriously, you're gonna get your ass kicked. But it can either be by _me_ or by someone else, so just shut the hell up."

_"What_ is your _problem?"_ Chris demanded.

"You!" Richard answered.

"You don't even know me!"

"Yes, I do. Because you're me, five years ago, except more obnoxious and blond."

"Hey—"

"Let me guess; no idea how the hell to talk to normal people, desperate for

attention, and fucking _arrogant."_

"I am _not—"_

"Yes you are."

Chris made a face at Richard's back. He was right, but on the other hand, Chris felt that there was a fine line between being proud of his truly _extraordinary_ accomplishments and being egotistical. But, he supposed, it was possible someone who didn't know him would assume he was just full of himself.

"But—" he objected.

"Just shut _up."_

"Look, if I go back to the office, they can ask someone else to help me—"

"No. You can't." He slowed down for a second and sighed a little. "Look, it's like this. We're both former child stars, right?"

"I am _not_ a _former—"_

"Shut _up._ For now just assume your career is over for a few months while you're in high school, and god knows _mine_ is. But there are people who actually remember me, and a _lot_ of people know who you are, and the school newspaper is desperate for shots of us together. And so are all the local stations. And I spent the last five _years_ trying to get people to leave me alone, and I don't exactly appreciate you _being_ here, let alone having to do this."

"So why'd you agree, then?"

"Because it would have been rude not to. And since I don't want any stories about being a bitter, careerless hack, I can't afford to be rude to you."

"You're being rude now," Chris half-sulked.

"Yes, but that's different, it's between you and me and not in the public. But in the public, I've _still_ got to smile and nod and act like I love everyone. And by the way, so do you, which will suck when you look really snotty to everyone else at school, which is why you're gonna get your ass kicked."

"..._what?"_

"Oh, look. The library," Rich said off handedly, and pointed.

"Thanks. _What_ did you just say?"

"Just try not to attract attention to yourself, and try not to talk about your show, and for God's sake, don't... Don't act like you did in the office."

"What was wrong with the way I acted in the office?"

"You _simpered._ And acted like a celebrity. Which really will just piss off everyone you meet who isn't a forty-something mother, or an eight year old girl, and you'll be back to getting your ass kicked."

"What _is_ this fixation you have with me getting my ass kicked?" Chris demanded.

"You'll have the fixation too, if you don't learn to blend in," Richard answered. "Mostly you'll have it from hiding in the library until two hours after school ends and everyone who wants to beat you to a bloody pulp is either busy smoking up or in a practice somewhere."

"I really don't think I'm in that much danger, thanks."

Richard smirked. "Your funeral." He nodded up at the stair case they were approaching. "The English classes are all on the top floor, freshmen English is the third or fourth door down."

"Uh, thanks."

"C'mon, history is in the other wing of the building." He turned a corner instead of taking the stairs and Chris followed, still confused, but able to tell that Richard was just plain done with talking about... Everything that wasn't part of the tour.

......

Chris was in the back of the cafeteria, poking at the lump of something that vaguely resembled food, very much alone. His shoulders were slumped in defeat; he hadn't felt _this_ dejected since... Ever. His will had been worn down already, and it was only lunchtime.

The first period and a half had been the tour with Rich, which hadn't been _so_ bad, though not uplifting. His second period class was math, and he'd missed the first half of class and was utterly lost. The strange looks he got from his classmates didn't help; some of them seemed to recognize him, but no one approached him. He _was_ the new kid, after all. No one bothered with the new kid.

He was used to having an almost one on one tutoring session instead of a normal class; he'd been the youngest (and then, as the original cast members left, the oldest) kid around, and as a result was literally in a class by himself. It wasn't that he was stupid, just that he didn't grasp math _quickly, _and the teacher was unwilling to slow down the whole thing for one student. He _took_ notes, but didn't know what they _said,_ and eventually left in a daze when class ended.

Next was history. History wasn't such a bad subject; they were studying the Civil War, and it wasn't like he didn't know who won. The problem hadn't been the subject material, in that case, it had been the teacher. Who had insisted on having him introduce himself and gushed about his show, which had been both refreshing and incredibly embarrassing. He'd have enjoyed it more, but the students in the class were giving him odd looks that were mostly disdain or disgust, not admiration. He was beginning to have a vague idea why Richard had told him not to talk about being famous. And then the teacher had called on him. Repeatedly. Whether his hand was raised or not. And he was pretty good at history, but hadn't done any of the reading, because it was his first day. What she expected from him, he had no idea, but he'd given up on that class entirely by the time the bell rang.

Then there had been chorus.

Chris didn't want to _think_ about chorus.

He'd started off relieved; he could pick up on music _much_ faster than math or history, and knew for a fact that he was talented. Unfortunately, everyone else knew he was talented too, and instead of _liking_ that, people resented it. Resented him. A lot. So aside from the glares, not so subtle insults, and actually having been shoved off the risers by one of the other boys (he had _no_ idea how to react to that, but was glad he knew how to do a stage fall, because he landed without getting hurt), he also had a slight problem blending in. He was used to singing in front of an audience, which meant projecting—belting, even—and taking his volume down to a level where it fit the rest of the chorus's was hard. Especially because the other male singers didn't sing so much as they mumbled tonally. And furthermore, the director was nearly incompetent, and it really required all of his willpower to not tell her off.

As the bell rang, he'd paused to grab his backpack, and when he straightened up, the same kid who'd shoved him off the risers was standing in front of him, glaring. He froze for a second, then threw the annoyance off breezily, and smiled; that was what he defaulted to when he didn't know what to do. The kid made a noise of disgust.

"The country got sick of watching you, huh?" he smirked.

Chris didn't answer, just turned away but the kid dogged his steps.

"You were a cute enough kid, but you grew outta _that_. Too bad you don't have any _real_ talent." And then walked off.

Which was probably for the best, because Chris really could only take so much and if the kid had said another word... He'd either have started screaming or crying, and he really wasn't sure which. He refused to believe that he had no talent, but... He _had_ been canceled.

His parents had tried to give him some perspective about that. The _show_ was canceled, not him, but... But really, he _was_ the show in a lot of ways. He was the only original cast member left, he'd been in that same studio, on that same soundstage, from the time he was nine until he'd turned fifteen and had grown up there. The last two seasons had been _his._ And the critics had loved him, but hated the writing, the dance numbers, and the other cast members. Apparently, so had everyone else.

They were yanked off the air and reruns were pulled from their usual slots. He was fifteen and washed up. Which wasn't something he could really look at with a greater perspective because... Because he had nothing else.

He gave up on the... Chicken? Beef? He couldn't tell what it was, which meant he probably shouldn't eat it. And he was sick of sitting alone, and _really_ sick of the sideways glances he was getting from people around him, and hearing his name muttered as people walked away. Fed up, he shoved his tray aside, stood, and walked out. There had to be a better way to spend a period.

He wandered the hallway aimlessly, hoping to find somewhere he could sit, alone, and think, and not be stared at. He paused in front of a set of somewhat familiar double doors; the library Rich had pointed out to him earlier, and after only a second of hesitation let himself in. It wasn't _entirely_ devoid of students, but was close to empty. No more than a handful sat at the small desks or wandered the stacks. He dragged one of the chairs towards an unoccupied corner, dropped his bag, and sat.

......

Richard didn't really like giving up his lunch period to work on class projects, but it was the only free period he had that overlapped with his partner's. And really, he was lucky to be working with Alejandro, who was number one in the junior class—rumor said he'd actually gotten a 1600 on the PSATs, but Rich wasn't going to ask—and he was taking Senior Government a year early, because... He was taking _everything_ a year early. He could have graduated a year early if he chose, but didn't want to; after all, there were always more AP classes to take. And a senior year full of them looked good on a transcript.

He and Alex (who resented his name being shorted, but got tired of no one being able to pronounce it correctly outside of Spanish class, and even that was a struggle) were wading through a handful of primary documents; things written about the Constitution. Their presentation was supposed to be twenty minutes long, and at the moment, they had ten of material, tops. But Alex practically lived in the library and had found piles of books and microfiche articles in no time at all, so now what remained was wading through it all and putting their project together.

He tapped his pencil against the table and tried to concentrate, which was hard. This wasn't his area of expertise, and he was bored. But the only thing that seemed to be distracting Alex was his pencil tapping. Alex reached out and stopped his hand without looking away from his book.

"Do you actually _understand_ any of this?" Richard asked.

"Yes."

"This sucks."

Alex looked up from his book, and sighed. "Look. You can go; I'll just... Do this. I'll give you note cards tomorrow, okay?" He went back to reading.

"No," Richard sighed. "No, I'm not gonna make you do all the work. That happens to you a lot, huh?"

"Yes."

"Here, I'll... Photocopy this to get quotes from tonight, okay?"

"Sure."

He hesitated. "Do you wanna... Like... Meet after school? Or call me tonight to talk about it? Or something?"

Alex looked up again, and actually smiled a little. "Sure, that would be great."

"I just can't concentrate in here, too quiet," Richard apologized. He scrawled his number on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to Alex, who pocketed it and went back to reading. "So, I'll talk to you later...?"

"Yeah, of course. Hey, thanks for not making me do it all."

"Why do you _let_ people make you do it all?"

Alex looked vaguely amused. "I'm supposed to let other people bring my grades down?" he asked.

Richard laughed. "Good point. Okay, well... Yeah, good luck with the reading and all. Later." He picked up the few books he'd glanced at to make copies and started to walk away to the machine in the corner.

And almost stopped, startled.

Chris Ivers was sitting, slumped over a chair next to the machine and looked like he was on the verge of death. Or possibly tears. Richard hesitated; he did have to make copies (these books being too ancient to check out) but he didn't really want to deal with Chris again. But at the same time...

He did feel kind of bad for the kid. He'd gone through the same thing. So he walked over to the machine, opened the copier, and shot Chris a look. Chris looked up at him, then away.

"So," Richard finally said, laying down the book and closing the top of the machine. "Sucks to be canceled, huh?"

Chris gave him an almost unreadable look; somewhere between totally dejected and gathering pride. But there was a pretty wide range between those two, so it was hard to tell. He didn't say anything, so Richard shrugged and began to make his copies. The two of them avoided looking at each other for the next few minutes, and after slipping the copies into his bag, started to walk off.

Chris finally decided to talk to him.

"You'd know how much being canceled sucks," he called. "Didn't it give_ you_ a nervous breakdown?"

Richard froze, then clenched his fist and kept walking.

He _really_ didn't like Chris.

......

Advanced Theater was his last class of the day, and his last hope for making his first day at school even vaguely salvageable. Theater was his strong point. Theater he could _do._

He was less than thrilled to see that Richard was also in the class, already sitting on the stage and talking to a few other people. He was a few minutes early, so he just sat quietly in one of the audience seats until the bell rang, watching and listening to people. The teacher walked in as the bell was ringing and people slid off the stage to sit in the audience seats—leaving three open spaces on either side of Chris—and the teacher leaned against the stage, a mug of coffee in one hand, and a small black beret on his head.

"Okay, darlings," he began, and Chris barely had time to wonder, _darlings?_ before the teacher continued, "we're supposed to have a new addition to our class today." The teacher gestured for him to stand up, which Chris did, glancing around nervously. Not that anyone would have noticed the nerves; he _was_ a good actor, after all. "Well, introduce yourself, hon."

Chris threw on his best, crowd winning smile, and declared in an airy voice, "Hey. I'm Chris Ivers. I used to act a little." And he chuckled, on the assumption that people would have a similar reaction.

All he got were blank, bored, or vaguely hostile looks.

So he shrugged a little and moved on, because after all, not all crowds were receptive. "Well, anyway. I'm really looking forward to this, I think theater will probably be my favorite class."

And as he sat back down, someone in one of the other rows coughed, or rather, 'coughed.' It sounded suspiciously like, "Ahem_suckup_cough." Ignoring the sound, Chris looked up expectantly at the teacher, sure that he could save this part of his day.

"And I'm Bernard Thompson, but all of my theater kiddies just call me Bernie. We're like one big, happy family in this class, right, kiddies?" He got a round of not entirely enthusiastic nods. "All right, then, let's get started, lovelies. Any suggestions from the peanut gallery what we should begin with?"

An indistinct voice to Chris's left called out, "Freeze!" and the teacher nodded. He pointed towards two students—Richard and another boy—and declared, "You two get the ball rolling, hmmm? Now, we need a relationship and a setting."

"High school!" someone yelled, as someone else yelled, "New kid!"

Chris sank down in his seat a little. That didn't bode too well. And Richard looked none too pleased as he stood and hopped onto the stage, followed by his partner. They stood awkwardly for a moment, then the other student stood up straight and declared, "Well, _gee._ This sure is a lovely school you _peasants_ attend."

Richard grimaced for just a second, then burst into a grin and answered in a thick cockney accent, "Well, _good,_ squire, we're glad it _pleases,_ squire!"

The audience snickered, more from the accent than anything else. Chris was just glad that the peasants comment had been deflected into something else. But Richard's partner froze for just a second, not expecting the flippant answer, and responded, "So long as I must have my education among _paupers,_ I suppose it'll do. Though I don't see _why_ I should attend—I used to go to school a little."

A few students cracked up at that, and Chris's face went _blank._ Like he hadn't heard the parody of himself, like he wasn't even in a class; he could have been staring out a window or waiting in line at the bank. But Richard didn't miss a beat. He turned away from his partner, raising his arm in horror, and yelled, "Oh, you _wound_ me, Squire!"

"FREEZE!" one of the other boys yelled, and made his way onto the stage, tagged Richard, and took over his pose. Swiftly, he turned around, bringing his arm down in an angry gesture, his face haughty. "_Damn you,_ I can't work under these conditions! Look at this—_look at this!"_ He mimed picking something up. "My coffee has no sugar in it, damn it! _How_ am I supposed to go_ on_ with no coffee!"

"I'm sorry!" the other kid yelped. "I didn't mean to disturb your genius, I'll go get it—"

"It's too late now! I'm already distraught! And _where is my cheese danish?_ How can they expect me to _act_ without my lucky, pre-show danish?!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but they need you on the set and—"

"Well, I can't go on, can I?! CAN I?!"

"No, sir!"

"I'll be in my trailer!"

"FREEZE!"

Chris continued to watch mindlessly as the scene closed and was replaced with another, but they barely seemed to differ. He didn't know what he'd done to piss off _everyone,_ but all he saw was one parody of his life as a star after another. His blank face didn't change, but his emotions bounced back and forth between devastation and humiliation, to pure anger.

It was in an angry snap that he heard himself yell freeze, a half-thought-out situation in mind. He knew he shouldn't do anything; he knew he should just sit and ignore everything, that reacting to the not at all subtle mockery would just make things worse. But he also wasn't used to letting other people walk all over him; maybe he was spoiled, but he hadn't deserved_ this._

The girl waiting for him on stage was doubled over, fake crying, and the boy he replaced had been comforting her. So he ignored the smug looks from his classmates and said in a syrupy voice, "Oh, don't _cry,_ Rose. Everything will be all right. I'm sure the new competition won't make you feel _inferior._ Why, you're talented enough to get cast without even going down on the producer."

He glanced over at the teacher, who'd been politely oblivious, and suddenly was paying a _lot_ more attention. He also glanced at Richard, who had his head in one of his hands, and looked... Well, unhappy, but it was hard to tell more than that, given his face was hidden.

And she responded, "Well, _you'd_ be the best judge of that. I hear that's your _real_ talent." She paused for a single beat. "I mean, getting people cast, of course. You're a _great_ agent."

"Well, I've had six years of experience more than _most_ people." He looked out at the class as he said it, his voice flat. "And I didn't even need to go to school for it."

"After all, education would just _ruin_ an artist of _your_ talent. You wouldn't want too many thoughts in that pretty head of yours, confusing you all the time."

"Well, what kind of agent would need to think when his client looks like a two-bit whore? _Anyone_ would want to hire her. You've got a _great_ future."

She started to answer but was cut off with, "OKAY, kiddies, that's enough freeze for now!" from the teacher.

Chris returned to his seat. He spent the rest of the period not talking, not listening, and not participating. His last hope was gone. High school _sucked._


	2. Two

Two.

Richard reached for his backpack, straightened up and started out. He was in a lousy mood, but that had become his standard mood for the last couple of weeks; at least finishing up his rehearsal for VoiceMale, the elite boys' choir he belonged to, left him feeling a _tiny_ bit better. The choir was considered one of the top in the country for teenage vocal talents; he'd been a member for two years, the only performing he'd done since his show had been canceled.

"Richard, do you have a minute?"

He shrugged, slowed his pace, and waited for the choir's director, Sherman Godfry, to catch up with him. "What's up, Sherm?"

"You've been... _off..._ in rehearsals for the last few weeks. Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, it's just awkward with two open spots in the mix," Rich answered.

Sherman nodded. "Well, auditions are next week, so we'll get them filled."

"Can't wait."

Sherman gave him a knowing look. "So anything else bothering you?"

"Nope."

"School okay? Senior year is tough."

"It's fine."

"Parents okay?"

"My mom is psycho, but hey, what else is new?" Richard faked a laugh. He might have been out of show business for a few years, but he still had that ability. Most people would have fallen for it.

Sherman did not.

"Look, Rich, I've know you for two years; _something_ is bothering you. Other than your mom, because she's always bothering you. Talk to me."

Richard hesitated. On the one hand, he didn't really want to talk; on the other hand, Sherman was the closest thing to a mentor he had. The choir was a tight knit group, and Sherman went out of his way to know what was going on in the lives of all of its members and help them out when it was needed.

"It's nothing big. There's just this guy at school."

"Oooooh, someone has a _cru-ush,"_ Sherman laughed.

"Ha. No." Rich leaned against the wall. "He's only fifteen. And he's _obnoxious."_

"So then what's the problem?"

Richard hesitated again. "You... Ever heard of Chris Ivers?"

"Yeah, of course. So?"

"So, it's him."

There was a long pause.

"Oh. I see."

"Yeah."

"So..." Sherman had a pretty good idea where this was going, but Richard clearly needed some prompting. "So what does he do?"

"Nothing! He's just... _There!"_ From his tone of voice, Sherman could see he'd hit the mark.

"And that bothers you."

"Yes!"

"Okay..."

"Because he's practically _me,_ three years ago, and I don't want to _think_ about that! I don't to think about the Business, I don't want to think about how much my life _sucked."_

"Yeah, it must've been tough when your show went off the air."

"It's not even that, it was my fault we got canceled anyway." He sounded more than slightly bitter. "It's just, he's _there_ and every time I see him with his stupid celebrity attitude, part of me wants to hit him but I also just... Feel kind of sorry for him."

"Ah. Because you know how much it sucks."

"Yeah."

"So... what are you going to do about it?"

"_Do?_ What am I supposed to do? It's not my problem he's a prick."

Sherman shrugged. "Maybe not." He paused. "Well, let me know if you need any help. See you tomorrow afternoon."

"Yeah, thanks," Rich said, but he kind of wondered what Sherman had hinted at.

...later...

As Chris approached the double black doors that led to his theatre class, he wondered how it was possible to despise a simple pair of _doors_ as much as he did. Every day for the past two weeks, not once had he left the class in a better mood than he came in with. He didn't even bother trying anymore; he just sat and hoped that Bernie would not call on him. Occasionally, he'd be forced to participate, but for the most part, he'd ignored the class and the class had ignored him.

Every now and then, though, he'd catch Rich looking at him. Sometimes he almost looked as though he was pitying Chris, other times he looked vaguely hostile or totally blank. It definitely made Chris slightly uncomfortable, but he wasn't about to let Rich know that. After all, he hated school, but he still had his pride.

He reached out to open the door, but paused, his attention caught by a bright pink piece of paper taped to it. As he looked over it, his mood improved markedly for the first time in several days.

_Auditions for the fall show, _The King and I_ are coming up. _

_Sign-up to audition in the theatre lobby, and come prepared _

_with a monologue and song. Good luck!_

_Heartened, our hero bravely enters. He knows that the theatre class hates him, but there's no reason that he won't have luck with the school show_, he narrated to himself, already picturing his audition going well. He was snapped out of his reverie by a hand jostling his shoulder.

He swung around.

"Um... you going to open that door or what?" Rich asked slightly impatiently.

"Yeah, I was just reading," Chris said defensively and pushed the door open.

As Rich maneuvered around Chris, he commented, "I wouldn't bother if I were you."

"Since when do you talk to me in class?" Chris snapped back.

"Since if you audition, you're going to regret it. Just a friendly piece of advice," Richard replied, then walked past to his usual seat.

Chris wondered what the warning meant, but easily brushed it off. He was far too desperate to be back on stage and to have the attention that went with it.

...later...

"Well, Mr. Ivers, now that you've had time to acclimate to your new school, why don't we sit down and evaluate how classes are going for you?"

"No problem," Chris answered, giving the guidance counselor his most winning smile, though he already knew what she was going to say.

The small, mousy woman opened his file, making small humming noises as she glanced through it. "Well, um... You seem to be doing quite well in _some_ areas. However, your math grade is a bit worrisome."

"Math isn't my strong point, I know," Chris answered warily. "I've been trying my hardest, but I just don't seem to get it."

"Yes, dear, that's clear, looking at your grade." She smiled comfortingly. "But don't worry. I've already taken the liberty of finding one of your peers to help you out."

He had a moment of dread, suspecting that they had thrown Rich and him together again.

"Now, just a moment; he should be right outside. He's such a nice boy, I'm sure you'll get along," she added. "Alex?" she called louder. "Alex, dear, would you join us please?"

The door opened, though Chris, relieved that his peer tutor was _not_ Rich, didn't turn around at first. When he did, though, he was surprised. He'd expected a total geek and the kid looked... nice. His hair was dark brown, shaggy, and fell slightly in his face, almost hiding his puppy-dog brown eyes. He was clearly from a Spanish background, and he was eyeing Chris shyly.

"Now, Chris, this is Alex. Alex, this is Chris."

"Alejandro," the kid muttered sheepishly.

" Al-ay-han-d – I'm sorry, I don't think I can pronounce that right. Can I just call you Alex?" Chris asked.

Alejandro sighed. "Sure. Nice to meet you, Chris."

Chris smiled. "You too, Alex. So, we're going to be working together, huh?"

"Yeah, looks like."

The guidance counselor broke in. "Well, now that you two have gotten acquainted, why don't you head over to the library to put together a good tutoring schedule?"

Alejandro nodded, and Chris shrugged a little and stood up, then followed Alejandro out of the room.

"So..." Chris mumbled, not sure what to say as they walked to the library.

Alejandro bit his lip for a second, then commented quietly, "I was sorry your show got canceled."

Chris blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah... It was my little sister's favorite show, so I, uh, watched it with her. Sometimes. It was pretty good."

"Hey, thanks!" Chris answered brightly, his mood suddenly improving.

"Are you planning to try out for the show?"

"Yeah."

Alejandro nodded. "I'm sure you'll be great."

"Well, I... Hope so," Chris answered. "Are you... Gonna audition?"

"Yeah... I'm not very good, though."

"I'm sure you're great," Chris said warmly, as they reached the library. Alex, he decided, was about the only nice person he'd met at school.

...later...

Three o'clock. Chris had been so impatient during theater that afternoon that he'd forgotten to avoid attracting attention, but had too much nervous energy to care. Not that he was actually _nervous,_ exactly, just anxious. The cast list would be up as soon as class ended.

The bell rang and he started towards the door, only to have Richard brush by him. "You auditioned?"

"Yeah."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Rich walked past him, and Chris practically skipped his way out to the lobby where the list would be posted.

There was a crowd gathered around the list, of course, but Chris had no problems pushing his way through. He scanned the top of the list for his name and noted somewhat cheerfully that Alejandro had one of the more important supporting male roles (and a song to himself), but didn't see his own name. Frowning, he scanned down the list further. Still nothing.

Further.

Nothing.

He bit his lip as he turned to the last section and finally saw himself, listed under "chorus; Siamese children".

He stared and read it again, not entirely believing what he read. He heard people celebrating around him, though it sounded kind of distant, and he was too far in shock to protest when he got shoved back to the back of the crowd. He glanced around and saw Alex, grinning, being congratulated by a friend. Alex glanced over and caught his eye, and smiled; Chris turned away, shouldered his backpack and started out of the school.

He was somewhere past the main door when Richard caught up with him.

"Told you so," Richard said.

"Fuck off," Chris answered.

"Hey—I did warn you." Richard hesitated. "It happened to me when I first got here."

"So what, the school has something against," he said in as bitter a voice as he could manage, "_former_ child actors?"

"Yes." Richard nodded. "After all, they want to be _fair._ And it wouldn't be fair to let the kids who've already had the spotlight take the lead."

"But I'm _good!"_

"So was I." For the first time, Rich also sounded bitter. "But that's how it works."

Chris ground his teeth and Rich sighed. He glanced over at Chris, who was doing a good job of looking like he wasn't utterly crushed. "Hey. It's just a high school play. It's no big deal, right?" Rich said.

"Whatever." Chris kicked a pebble. "It just... I'm supposed to be a professional and if I can't even get a part in a stupid high school show, how am I supposed to ever—" He broke off.

"Make a comeback?" Rich suggested.

"Yeah." Chris swallowed hard, trying to bite back everything he was feeling.

Richard kept walking with him, a thousand responses playing through his mind. Finally, he commented, "You know, there's other places to go if you just want to perform."

Chris gave him a suspicious look. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm, uh... I'm in this chorus at the Community Center of Music and Art. It's... Not, like, professional or anything. But we go to competitions a lot, we get a pretty good amount of press." He shrugged. "We had two members graduate the end of last season, so we're looking for some.... New voices."

"...Yeah?" Chris said again.

"Yeah. So. If you want to try out or anything..." He shrugged. "I mean, I can't say for sure you'd get in, but you sing okay."

_"Thanks."_

"You sing better than you dance. I did _watch_ your show occasionally."

"I dance _fine."_

Richard almost laughed. "Yeah, that's one word for it."

Chris made an exasperated noise, but didn't say anything. Because dancing wasn't really his strong point. He'd been well-trained in it, but it didn't come naturally the way singing did.

"So anyway. Our auditions are Monday, at the CCMA. If you're interested.... It beats Siamese Child Number Eight." He gave Chris another look, which was basically unreadable, and started to walk away.

"Hey—Richard," Chris called, and Rich glanced back at him. "Uh... Thanks."

"Whatever. Good luck." He added, vaguely tauntingly, "It's a pretty hard group to get into."

"They took _you."_

"Shut up, Ivers." But he sounded more amused than offended.

...later...

"Hey—Sherm?" Rich asked, waiting around as the other members of the chorus filed out of their Friday evening rehearsal.

"Yo."

"I think I might have done something stupid."

"There's a shock." Sherman slapped his back playfully. "What's up?"

"You remember that... problem... I told you about?"

"Yeah?"

"I, um... Maybe felt a little too sorry for him." He hesitated a second, then finished, "He was pretty upset about some stuff at school and I kind of suggested he audition for us."

"I see." Sherman nodded a little. "If I remember right, he can sing."

"Yeah, he's pretty good."

"So... You're afraid he'll get in? Or that he won't?"

"What are you talking about? I just can't believe I even _suggested_ it to him. He's so... Ught."

"Well, he can't be 'ught' all the time, or you wouldn't have suggested it. He reminds you of you, anyway, so unless you're _also_ 'ught'—"

"I was in ninth grade." Rich shrugged a little. "I'm not anymore, though. You know, much. But he actually _wants_ to go back to the spotlight and everything!"

"So do you."

"I do _not."_

"Uh huh."

"I really _don't."_ Richard crossed his arms defensively.

"Sure. Whatever you say, Rich."

"What... What makes you think I want back into show business?"

Sherman smiled. "Call it a gut feeling, Rich. Look where you are now. If it wasn't for your... Problem, you'd probably never have left it."

"But I never even _wanted_ it. If Mom hadn't made me..." He trailed off. "I don't want to go back."

"Fair enough. Kind of a shame, though; one of my contacts had asked me to pass on some audition info to you, but..." He trailed off.

Richard hesitated, various instincts at war, then finally asked, "Audition info?"

"Not that you'd be interested," Sherman laughed.

"Sherman!"

"Oh, gee, you _do_ want it?"

_"Sher_man!"

"Say please."

"Sherman!"

Sherman started laughing. "Come on, it's in my office."

"So what is it?"

"Wellllllllll."

"Sherman!"

Sherman was, clearly, having far too much fun with this. "Well, you know the Uptown Boyz, right?"

"Uh... Yeah." He gave Sherman a weird look. "They're a boyband. So?"

"So you know the guy who put them together?"

"...Pulitzer?"

"Yeah."

"So?"

"So his record label is looking to put together another boyband to catch the younger girls in their group. You know, a bunch of cute teenagers who can sing and dance and smile at cameras."

"Someone wants me to audition for a boyband?"

"Yeah. His name's Weisel, he's supposed to be in charge of the whole deal. Saw us perform last year, thinks you've still got it, wants to pull in someone with a name who can get publicity... So yeah, if you're interested."

Richard bit his lip.

"But if you aren't, no one would blame you. I know why you got out of it all, so if you don't want to go back..."

"I'd have to think about it," Richard said.

"Of course. Weisel'll be in town next week, so you've got a few days." He grinned. "Takes your mind off that other problem, huh?"

"What? Oh... Yeah." He paused. "A boyband? _Really?"_

"Well, between the Uptown Boys and Shawna Rivers, pretty teenagers sell." He elbowed Richard. "You remember Shawna."

_"Yes_, I remember Shawna."

"She was on your show."

"I'm aware of that, thanks."

"And she's the biggest artist in the business right now."

"That's not... Art, exactly."

"It's close enough." He shrugged. "So you think about it, okay? As for the other thing, well, if the kid is good, he'll get in; if not, he won't. Not your problem."

"Right." Richard started to walk again, for the first time in three years wondering if he maybe _did_ want to get back into the business.

**AN: **Using "...later..." to show time breaks was not our idea. FFnet no longer allows any sort of character off on its own, which means you can't us an asterisk, a pound sign, or anything else. We have no idea why not, but find it irritating. This way of showing time breaks is ugly. Apologies.


	3. Three

Three.

Richard's father was already home when he got there and dumped his bag and car keys on the table. "Hey, Dad." He wandered into the kitchen, where his father was dumping vegetables into a pot. "What's up?"

"Making vegetable soup. You like that, right?"

"Uh... Not really, no. But I'll eat it."

"Right. You don't like cooking. See, I remember some things."

"Way to go, Dad." Richard reached up to take off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose for a second, then put them back. He kept thinking he should get contacts, but it didn't seem worth the effort.

John Greensmith was the sort usually described as a solid person—tall, broad shouldered, and slightly rugged. His son had gotten most of his looks from his mother, so Richard was more pretty than handsome or rugged. But most of Richard's personality came form his father, which, John mused occasionally, was probably why Richard had chosen to live with him, and not his mother, after the divorce.

"So, uh... How was school?"

"Boring."

There was a pause. "Uh... Okay. Classes going all right, though?"

"Yeah."

They both kind of stood in the kitchen for a minute.

"So... How's your case going, Dad?" Richard hazarded.

"Not too bad. It's slow going building a case for someone who's obviously guilty, but we're getting there."

"Cool."

Another silence.

"I could probably make this stew instead of soup," his father offered.

"Uh, okay." He bit his lip a little, then added, "Hey, Dad, I have a... question."

"Okay, shoot." His dad began to look for spices in an ancient, dusty spice rack.

"Umm... What would you think if I said I'd been... Offered an audition?"

"I dunno. Have you?"

"Yeah."

"Audition for what?"

"Umm... A musical group."

"Aren't you _in_ one of those?"

"Well, yeah, but... This would be, uh... A bit more high profile."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Like... Like a band."

"You don't play anything."

Rich sighed. "A boyband, Dad."

His Dad looked up from the soup-turned-stew. "Oh. Well, that's different."

"Yeah, uh... Just, I was thinking of maybe actually doing it."

"Hmm." His dad paused, turned the burner down to simmer, put a top over the pot and sat down at the table. Rich sat down across from him. The conversation had moved from a casual thing to a serious discussion. "Tell me more about it."

"Well, uh... It's... The same guy who put together the Uptown Boyz wants to see if he can do it again and... _Really_ corner the market. They thought I might be good because I sing and... Well, I've got a recognizable name. Or at least, I _used_ to."

"Well, what do you think about it?" John asked.

Rich shrugged.

"I just seem to remember you saying you didn't _want_ to be involved in that business anymore, when your show was canceled. You... Did have a pretty rough time for awhile there."

"I know, I didn't want it anymore, but I was only thirteen then. I've... grown up."

"You're only eighteen."

"Yeah. But... I don't know, I just sort of miss it."

"What, precisely, do you miss?"

"I just miss... I miss the crowd. I miss performing for people who actually want to see me."

"I seem to recall you had problems with the crowds, Rich."

There wasn't a lot Rich could say to that, because it was true. He loved the crowds. He loved performing. He loved being loved, and would be lying if he said that he didn't. But, on the other hand, the last year he'd been with his show they'd spent a lot of time touring and doing live performances, and with each performance he'd ended up with an anxiety attack. It had taken them half an hour a night to coax him onto the stage and, invariably, he had to take a break in each show to throw up and sit until he stopped shaking. _That_ was why his show had been canceled: he was the star, but he couldn't perform.

"I.. I, uh... I think I've gotten past that."

His father raised an eyebrow. "Sherman told me that you still throw up before you go on stage."

"Yeah, but I _go_ on stage now."

"For a crowd of maybe two hundred people. What if it was larger—thousands?"

Rich winced. "Thousands?" he repeated. His father waited. "Well, uh... I don't know. I mean, I want this. I really think I do want to get back in the game, I've been thinking about it a _lot_ lately. And I just... I want to prove to myself that I _can_ do it. I'm a performer, I've been performing since I was four, I'm sure if I just try I can get past my... My _thing..._ and get back to doing what I love. I'm sure I can."

His father sighed. "Then I won't try to stop you, Rich. But you know you'll have to discuss this with your mother."

Rich groaned. "I know. But if I take the audition you won't be angry or anything?"

"As long as you're doing it because you want to, I'll support you. If you're going to call your mom, you should get that over with."

"Wish me luck."

His father smiled. "Oh, I wouldn't worry; you want to get back in the business. She'll be _thrilled."_

"That's why I'm worried."

* * *

_I can do this,_ Rich told himself. He had Sherman on speed dial if he needed to talk to someone to get his confidence up, he had his mother there to do the talking (whether he wanted her to or not) and his song prepared. They were just waiting for the manager to usher them in.

"Mom, you didn't have to come," Rich said, hoping that talking would alleviate some of his nerves. He was starting to feel _it_ coming on, that feeling in the pit of his stomach, the taste of bile in the back of his throat. He took a deep breath and locked it down. It was just an audition. He'd done hundreds of them.

"Of course I did, dear."

"It was a five hour flight and this is just an audition. It's not a big deal, I've done it before..." He tried to make himself believe that. Just an audition, he'd done it before. No big deal. Yeah, right.

"It's your first audition in eight years, don't be silly! You must be a nervous wreck, I'm so nervous for you."

"You're not helping, _Mom,"_ he said through clenched teeth. Right. Eight years; the last thing he'd auditioned for was his show, which ran for three years, and then he'd walked out on the world of showbizz for five years.

"Richard, you've never done an audition without me, you need me here."

"I really don't."

_"Richard!"_

"Sorry." So the whole 'talking' plan had backfired; now he felt more nervous, and guilty on top of it. So he didn't say anything else, and neither did she, and eventually the door opened and a very rotund man motioned them in.

The man held out his hand and introduced himself as, "Theodore Weisel."

Rich started to reach for the hand, but his mother beat him to it. "Virginia Alcott, and this is my son—and my client—Richard."

Rich was finally allowed to shake hands with his potential manager. Weisel's hand was sweaty, but Rich resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his pants after. That would have been impolite, after all.

Rule number one of auditions was to be polite. His mother had taught him that from the time he was old enough to walk. He shot Weisel his best smile.

"This is just a formality, of course," Weisel assured them. "Mr. Pulitzer is thrilled you wanted to take him up on the offer."

Richard opened his mouth to answer, but his mother jumped on it. These were practically pre-scripted lines, after all. "Well, Richard is just _thrilled_ that you thought of him, after all of these years..."

"Well, let's just hope he's still got it."

Richard tried to swallow the lump in his throat and tried to not run for the trash basket to throw up. He wasn't going to, not this time. It was just an audition and it was clear that they wanted him; all he had to do was warble through a song and he'd be signed. He could handle that.

So why did he feel like he was shaking?

Because he _was_ shaking. He took a deep breath and smiled again. "No problem. Can I take a minute to warm up?" And his voice didn't even shake. He was a good actor, after all.

"Be my guest, there's an empty room just down the hall."

"Thanks, I'll be back in just a minute." He excused himself from the room quickly and as soon as he was safely in the hallway, leaning against the wall and took deep breaths, shaking, and reached for his phone, hit the speed dial. "Sherman?"

"Rich?"

"I'm at my audition and I'm gonna puke and I'm supposed to be warming up but I can't stop shaking."

"Oh. Well, that bites."

"Yeah, _thanks."_

"Have you warmed up yet?"

"I can't! I'm having a panic attack here. I _need help. _God, I can't do this, I—"

"Rich, quiet now."

Richard fell quiet. He and Sherman had been through this countless times in the last few years, because Sherman was one of the only people who could get him on stage when he was having an attack.

"Okay, first thing is your lyrics. Do you know the words?"

"Yeah." His voice cracked.

"Recite them for me."

Deep breaths. He could do this. This was what he always did before he performed, and with Sherman now speaking in his calm, instructor voice in his ear, the need to throw up was slowly lessening.

So he began to talk his way through the song; after much consideration, his mother had informed him he'd be singing _Yesterday_ by the Beatles. It was a slow, sad song and right in his vocal range, and the sort of romantic thing that boybands were always performing.

He finished talking his way through it. He knew the words by heart.

"Good. No problem, right?"

"Right."

"Okay, now match my note." Sherman hummed the opening note of the song. Rich followed suit and slipped from humming into singing, worked on making it a clear, polished tone. Sherman switched notes. Richard followed.

They didn't go through the whole song, just the opening. Richard took a deep breath.

"You need to go on?"

"No, I... I'm fine."

"I know you are. Call me when you're done, okay?"

"Okay."

"Break a leg, kid."

"Thanks, Sherm. Talk to you soon."

Richard hung up and took another breath, threw his smile back on, and walked back into the office. "All ready," he proclaimed cheerfully. So Weisel asked him to start, and he stood with good posture, projected like he would on stage, and sang.

As nervous as he was, he sounded good. He always sounded good when he finally started. And it seemed like only seconds later that he was holding the final note, let it fade off into quiet and stood statue still until it faded away.

He hadn't even noticed his mother mouthing the words along with the song. But neither had Weisel, who nodded, satisfied.

"You've still got it, honey!" his mother proclaimed, as he sat down next to her.

He smiled back. He didn't trust himself to talk, because he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he'd throw up. But the worst part was over, and knowing his mother, all he had to do was sit and let her talk.

Things were going well. His mother talked business for a few minutes and they were discussing the contract, when somehow the topic switched slightly. "Now, unlike other projects we've worked on, Mr. Pulitzer and I would like this band to seem more based in friendship than... Well, than looking like it's a business venture. What we'd _really_ like to see is our talent looking to bring in new faces."

Rich nodded; that was business code for them wanting him to find other band members. He hadn't expected it, but it was definitely an added bonus; if he got along with the people he'd be working with, it would make life much easier. "Well, I'm not sure how many people I know off the top of my head, but—"

"Oh, _I_ know," his mother interrupted. "Doesn't that darling Chris Ivers go to your school now, Richard?"

Rich stared at her in horror for a second, then remembered he was supposed to be professional, and covered quickly. "Well, yes..."

"Well, that's one right there."

Weiesel nodded approvingly. "He was on our list of contacts, had you chosen not to take us up on the offer."

"Yeah, but... That is..."

"Why don't you ask him about it, Richard?"

"It's just that... Chris and I don't actually get along so well."

"That's all right, dear, we can work on that."

"But—"

"He's a name, Richard. A bigger one than you are." Weisel didn't sound exactly menacing when he said it, but it had a distinct end-of-conversation tone about it.

"Okay, then... I'll suggest it to him. If he's interested."

"Of _course_ he's interested," his mother insisted.

"Well, I'll _ask_ him about it, _Mom."_

"Well, that's settled, then," Weisel declared. "I'll have the contract drawn up according to these terms, you'll talk to Chris and look around for some more people, and we'll meet again soon."

"It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Weisel," Richard's mother answered and offered her hand again. They shook, Weisel shook Richard's hand, and he and his mother headed out.

It was settled. He was back in the business.

"Just a sec, Mom, I'll meet you at the car." He gave her a slight smile, and dashed off for the bathroom, where he walked into a stall, locked it behind him, doubled over and threw up.

* * *

Chris was being a bitch. Chris was also fully aware of the fact, and didn't care.

Alejandro signed. "Look, it's _easy._ You want all the variables on one side."

"Why?"

"So you can find out what they are. Look, you've got a minus 4X here, so if you _add_ 4X on this side, and then add it on the other side too, so that the equation is still equal, you can solve for X."

"How can I add it if I don't know what X is?"

"You've _done this_ the last _four problems,_ I know you know how. All you do is _add."_

"It doesn't make any sense."

"It's not that hard! You _add!"_ Alejandro took a deep breath. "If you'd just try a little harder, I bet you'd get it."

"I try _plenty_ hard. Things just don't work out for me, lately." He glared for a second, then added pointedly, "How're rehearsals going?"

Alejandro blinked once, then said, "Fine. Let's get back to math, please."

"Hm, how about we don't?"

"Well, it's not _my_ grade in trouble, Chris, and if you don't want to work on this, that's fine. So long as you don't mind getting the F."

They spent a long minute trying to stare each other down. "Whatever," Chris finally said. "School's not that important anyway. Not to someone who actually has a _life."_

"School is important to anyone who cares about his _future,"_ Alejandro shot back testily.

"Some of us already have very nice futures planned, thanks."

"Yes, I hear _Hollywood Squares_ is always looking for washed up actors."

Chris's bitchy front started to crumble, but the fact that he was an actor helped him hold it in place. Even though the remark had hit a lot closer to home than he wanted to admit. "At least there would still be people who actually wanted to see me."

Alejandro gave him an almost unreadable look, then snapped his math book shut. "You have the strangest priorities of anyone I've ever met. We've done enough for one day, I have my own work to do. I'm certainly not going to waste time helping with _yours_ if you don't even care."

_"Fine,_ I don't care! I didn't ask for your help, anyway."

Alejandro gave him a vaguely disgusted look, dropped the book in his bag, and walked away. Chris glared after him bitterly.

He knew it was shallow to be angry at the people who _had_ gotten decent parts. And he'd been far nicer to Chris than most of the rest of his schoolmates. But on the other hand, Chris was sick of his schoolmates, and sick of school, and just wanted to get it over with and get back to his _real_ life. Not this inane, allegedly _normal_ life. He'd tried normalcy. He wanted his fame back.

* * *

The bell rang and the day was over, thankfully. He had an audition to get to. Not the kind he wanted, not a fame and fortune, back in the public spotlight audition, but it was the group Richard had told him about. He'd done some research and discovered that they were fairly well known, as young male choirs went, and did get a decent amount of local press. It wasn't ideal, but it would do for the time being.

Until he had a chance to get back to _real_ auditions, anyway.

The problem with this audition was that the boys who were already _in_ the group were there. Which, Chris realized, included Richard. But on the other hand, he'd been to dozens of auditions before, and one particularly nasty critic wasn't going to stop him. He was introduced to Sherman, and the boys in the group, except for Richard. Who just raised an eyebrow.

Chris was good at auditions, and this was no exception. He turned on the charisma as he shook hands, even shot a vaguely humble grin at Richard (who rolled his eyes), and hit his song perfectly. Sherman gave him a pat on the back and promised they'd call and let him know what happened, and, satisfied, Chris started out.

Richard glanced at Sherman. "I'm..." He coughed. "Gonna take five, back in a few." And before Sherman could answer, he let himself out and, irritated he had to do this, started after Chris. "Wait up," he called, jogging slightly.

Chris stopped. "...Um?" He looked vaguely confused, but forced himself to be polite, because after all, he _did_ want to get into the group. And he figured if anyone knew he and Rich kind of hated each other, it would hurt his chances.

"So, uh. As long as I'm finding auditions for you?"

"...What?"

"So I've got this thing."

"...Okay."

Richard groaned. "Well, it's singing and dancing, and a bit more... high profile than this. And it was _mentioned_ that you might be interested."

"Who mentioned _what?"_ Chris asked. "What are you..." He stopped and made himself be polite again. "Um... What?"

"Okay, so here's what... What the thing is." Richard paused, and Chris just waited, vaguely confused. "I got an offer to do a... Okay, a boyband. There's really no other word for it."

Chris's mask of politeness broke. _"You?_ In a _boyband?"_

"It's backed by Joe Pulitzer and has the same manager as the Uptown Boyz, and if that's not enough credibility for you—"

"Woah, back up!" Chris interrupted. "Pulitzer's funding it? This is for real?"

"Well... Yeah. They gave me the offer so I'm, um... Scouting talent."

Chris laughed. "Talent? _Moi?_ You're kidding. That's sort of a compliment."

"Bite me," Richard answered. "It wasn't my choice, I had to agree to ask. I'll tell them you said no—"

"Who's saying no?"

Richard sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Chris considered. "This is for real? We'd have a record deal, live show—TV coverage?"

Richard felt kind of ill thinking about it. "Uh... Well, yeah." He didn't like the calculating look on Chris's face, and could actually see the gears turning. Gritting his teeth, he reached for Weisel's card and handed it to Chris. "Call him, okay? I've gotta get back to..."

"Yeah." Chris paused. "Thanks."

"Bite me," Richard said again, the amended, "...Welcome."

Damn having to get along with business contacts.

* * *

AN: We love Chris and Richard (that would be Dutchy and Specs, to clarify) when they argue, far too much. And we love Alejandro. A lot. Because he's mean to Chris. Ha.

_The chapter is dedicated to Sinhe, because we want her to come play with us!_


	4. Four

_Four._

Richard tried not to glower as Chris signed the contract, grinning. It was just a preliminary contract which would be revised later, but it meant he was in it for the moment. Richard sighed. To make matters worse, Weisel was absolutely _fawning_ over Chris.

On the other hand, watching Chris trying to be polite to the heavyset, sweating, kind of… fragrant… manager, who kept putting a hand on his shoulder or an arm around him, was amusing. Chris couldn't squirm, because that was unprofessional, and he couldn't even pull away. But Richard could tell that he really wanted to, and a small smirk played across his lips as he watched.

"Now, we just need to find you three more bandmates," Weisel finally said, letting Chris go, to his obvious relief. "I've got a list of names in the area—dancers more than singers, since _you_ two will be our star vocal talent."

"Hey," Chris laughed, "_we're_ both dancers."

"Chris, I've seen you dance," Richard answered.

"I dance _fine."_

"Well, that's one word for it."

"Now now!" Richard's mother interrupted. "Rich, dear, don't antagonize Chris. You two need to be best friends from now on."

"Oh _goody,"_ Chris muttered.

"Yeah, 'cause I'm _thrilled."_

"WELL," Weisel interrupted, "you two will have to work on that. Your fans will be looking for chemistry between bandmates, after all. You have to sell the right image."

"Friends with him?" Rich said. "Yeah. I'm a good actor, I'm not _that_ good."

"Luckily, I am," Chris hissed back, then broke into an obviously fake grin. _"Buddy."_

"ANYWAY, Ms. Alcott and I put together a list of names to look at; we'd like you boys to talk with them and make the final decisions. After all, you'll have to be one big happy family—and get along."

"No one asked _me_ if I could get along with _him,"_ Rich said under his breath.

"Yes, dear, because he's actually got name recognition, so learn to _love_ him."

"Mom!"

"It's the way business works, Rich. You should get used to it," she answered sharply. "Now, no more talk of this. I don't want to see you two bickering like this anymore. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Chris answered cheerfully.

"Suck up," Rich muttered, then said aloud, "_So,_ who's on the list?"

* * *

Alejandro's eyes watched the door intently, waiting for Chris to finally appear. He glanced over at his little sister, Rosalia, who was sitting in a nearby chair, engrossed in a book on her lap. He smiled; she was a good kid, and very smart, and it was his afternoon to babysit her—which he didn't mind. He just felt bad for making her sit in the library while he had to deal with Chris.

Who, he told himself, had better be _nice_ in front of her.

However, judging by the spring in his step, Chris was already in a good mood. Alejandro walked over to greet him with a smile that disappeared as soon as he turned away from his sister, and met Chris halfway. "Look," he hissed. "My sister is here, so watch your mouth, okay?"

Chris glanced around for his sister and smiled. "Cute kid," he noted.

Alejandro gave him an odd look. "Why are _you_ so happy?"

"Because I got a gig. And I'm out of this shitty—"

"Language!"

"Yes, _mother._ I'm out of this… freaking… school in a matter of weeks."

"Great, can I stop tutoring you?"

"The sooner the better," Chris answered, his smile clearly forced for just a second. "But I'm still supposed to attempt to care until I'm gone."

Alejandro snorted as they sat down at one of the study tables. "So what do you want to 'work on' today?" he asked snidely, finger quoting as he spoke.

"Your attitude?" Chris answered.

"Like you should talk."

"At least I have genuine star credit, not just for some stupid school musical. I have math homework."

"Do it your_self—"_

"Alejandro?" Both boys shut up and turned to see Rosalia looking up from her book. Her eyes went slightly wide. "_Alejandro!"_

"Rosalia?" he asked, then glanced over at Chris, then back at her, and then laughed. _"Oh."_ He nodded at her and she put her book down and shyly walked over to him, blushing lightly, alternating between staring at Chris and staring at the floor. "Rosalia, this is my… friend… Chris Ivers. _Chris._ This is my little sister."

"Hi," she said shyly, and half-hid behind her brother's chair.

"Hey," he answered, grinning. "How old are you, Rosalia?"

"Ten," she whispered, and Alejandro smiled.

"Well," he urged. _"Ask_ him."

Chris suddenly broke into a genuine smile, figuring out what was going on. God, it was good to be recognized.

"Can…" she whispered. "Can I… CanIhaveyourautograph?"

"Of course," Chris answered. "Noooo problem." He laughed cheerfully and tore a piece of paper out of his notebook, picked up his pen and scribbled, _Hey cutie—Glad to meet you. Love, Chris Ivers._

She sighed adoringly as he handed it to her. In a small voice, she managed to squeak, "Thank you!"

"My pleasure, kiddo." He stood and hugged her, and she turned bright red.

"Rosalia, go read your book, hmm? Chris has homework to do."

"You do _homework?"_ she gasped, kind of awed.

"Of course. Your brother helps me out lots—he's a smart guy."

She glanced over at her brother, looking slightly shocked that someone so famous would say nice things about him. "Wow," she said. "He… He always watches your show with me."

"Really?"

"Mmmhmm, and—"

"Rosalia, go finish reading," Alejandro interrupted, trying to avoid blushing himself, having had that particular secret exposed.

"We watched it _every week_ and if we weren't home we'd tape it and—"

"Rosalia!" Now he was feeling slightly flustered. "We have work to do."

"Sorry…" she sulked, then bravely asked, "Would you like to come over for dinner some time? My mama cooks real good."

"Rosalia—"

"I'd love to," Chris answered, grinning. "Buuuuut I have homework to do right now." He made a face and she giggled, and scampered back to her chair—and proceeded to watch him intently for the rest of the time they were in the library.

"You'd love to?" Alejandro repeated.

"What, I was supposed to say no?" Chris demanded. "I have a heart, come on. She's adorable."

"You like anyone who likes you."

"That's not true, I—" He stopped. "Well, okay. Fine."

"You're such a _fake,_ Chris."

"I'm an _actor,_ Alex. And I was just nice to your sister, so deal with it." He paused. "You watched my show religiously?" he added, sounding kind of amused.

"_She_ did. Rosalia would throw a fit if I didn't watch with her, it was our _thing._ Okay?"

"Sure."

"Hey. I got to watch you hit puberty on television. I have to say, it was just _charming_ the season your voice wouldn't stop cracking." He smirked a little. "So, math homework?"

* * *

Richard was waiting for Chris when he got out of tutoring. He shot a quick wave at Alejandro and then fell into step with Chris. "Sooooo."

"Yes?" Chris asked.

Richard rolled his eyes. "We got a call that Weisel thinks we'll be interested in. A dancer—well, singer, but mostly dancer. Sherman's heard good stuff about him, too."

"Do we get any say in this?"

"We get to audition him." Richard grinned. "You know I was auditioning _you,_ right?"

"Uh huh." Chris rolled his eyes. "So when's this happening?"

"Can you make it tonight?"

Chris sighed. "I have math homework."

"You're kidding me, right?"

There was a long pause, and they both started laughing.

* * *

It took about three weeks to get the band properly assembled. They ended up taking their first audition, a kid named Caleb but who actually went by CJ, his initials. (He also ignored Richard's comment that if he was CJ Jefferson, wasn't that really just Caleb Jefferson Jefferson?) He was Asian, with a few red streaks dyed into his hair, which (at least according to Weisel) made him _cool_ to their demographic. He and Richard got along fairly well, though he was a little too hyperactive for Richard's taste.

CJ's dance instructor had several suggestions for other band members; they auditioned almost fifty, and finally settled on two. The first had light brown skin and a smile that caused all girls in a fifty foot radius to sigh dreamily. He introduced himself as Nick, and despite being naturally charismatic and almost disgustingly sweet to everyone he spoke with, Chris disliked him almost immediately. But CJ and Richard overruled him, and Weisel and Richard's mother dealt with Chris's fit.

The fifth member was the tallest, and was surprisingly jock-like for a musician, complete with a backwards baseball cap. The adults immediately declared he'd attract the cheerleader type girls and pronounced him in before anyone even had a chance to object. For his part, Johnny just sort of shrugged and smiled when they told him he was in.

With the lineup for the band set, it was time to actually begin rehearsing and recording. The songs had been written almost as soon as Pulitzer announced he was financing another boyband; all that was left was to learn them. Which, the boys were told, was going to be exhaustive training.

There were, Chris decided, pros and cons to this. The major upside was that this involved taking them out of school and getting them the sort of private, one-on-one tutors he was used to. The downside, a rather major one, was that the intensive training-slash-brotherly bonding required that the five of them spent every waking minute together—living together in a house financed by Pulitzer as well.

It was hard to complain about the house, which had both a studio and practice room as well as a pool and a basketball court, and satellite TV, and a gaming system better than most arcades.

The problem wasn't the house _itself._ It was that five boys living together, aside from smelling slightly, tended to fight as often as they bonded. Like with basketball, Chris mused, as he scowled, watching Nick and CJ play horse. They'd given up on playing actual games with the five of them—aside from uneven teams, it just led to yelling. And sulking.

Chris had been banned from the basketball court almost immediately after their first attempted game. Everything had started out light-hearted enough, except that Richard had made a joke about Nick's team getting _stuck_ with Chris, which had led to some trash talking, not all of it light hearted. But Nick and CJ didn't mind so much, particularly because they didn't really need Chris on their team, and mostly just avoided giving him the ball.

Ever.

And while Chris wasn't _bad,_ per se, he was two years younger and a few inches shorter than everyone else, which didn't help any on the rare occasion he _did_ get the ball. Always by accident.

The real problem had come at the collision. Chris had accidentally caught the ball when Nick missed it on a bad pass by CJ; Nick turned around to bound after it as Johnny tried to intercept it as well, and Chris had done his best to avoid getting run over by the two of them, failed, and they ended up tangled on the asphalt in a pile of limbs, which had caused Rich and CJ to collapse into gales of laughter. CJ had made a _mostly_ joking comment about how that was why they never gave Chris the ball.

Chris, being Chris, hadn't taken that very well. A long round of, "Well, I'd have been better if my _own team_ hadn't tripped over me!" and "How do you know I can't play when you won't ever let me!" and "Stop whining, you baby!" ensued, which ended with Chris stalking off to go play video games instead, by himself, and a "Good! Go on, then!" shouted after him.

Really, it was just easier to not let him play to begin with.

On the other hand, the pool was better. Chris could hold his own when it got down to splash wars, and years of singing had taught him how to hold his breath for quite an impressive amount of time. Though he did have to admit, he kind of enjoyed the, "Oh my god, we drowned Chris!" panic that ensued when he didn't surface immediately.

But he was careful to come up for air before they could stop panicking and start celebrating.

Goofing off was mixed in with rehearsals, which were often long and torturous, but also kind of satisfying as they came together as a group. They started with the vocal training and learning the songs—nothing remarkable, and everyone admitted that they did basically sound like a rip-off of the more popular Uptown Boyz—and then the choreographers showed up.

It was almost like military training. They had a month to prepare for a showcase that Pulitzer had arranged to be broadcast on Nickelodeon, though only because the Uptown Boyz had pulled out of their live concert broadcast. And a month wasn't a lot of time to learn an entire forty minute performance. Especially not one that had to be _perfect_—as it was their introduction to the country.

Chris thrived under the stress, which was good because for all that he was the youngest member, he was also, in a lot of ways, the anchor of the group. He was the best known of the five and had the best voice; it took him longer to pick up on the dance steps than the other four, but once he had them learned, he never faltered. And he was good with the press, once the press started showing up; his long-rehearsed, well-practiced charm came out in full force.

Not everyone else was doing quite so well. Richard had a great public face and smiled for the cameras; he sang well and danced better, but had an unnerving habit of locking himself in the bathroom for an hour after interviews. CJ and Nick also took to it fairly well—getting the hang of talking to reporters and posing for pictures with the right smile was awkward, especially after nine hours of rehearsing, but it came to them both with some degree of ease. CJ fell into the role of class clown with relish, playing off of Chris surprisingly well; and all Nick had to do was wink.

The only problem was Johnny, who learned his parts in the songs well enough, and danced better than he sang, but who was shy around reporters, awkward in pictures, and didn't quite keep up with everyone else. But he suffered through it, as their debut performance loomed closer and closer.

Time passed remarkably quickly, and the days nearly flew by; a week before their performance, they had an open house where friends, family and reporters were all welcome to join the band for dinner. Both of Richard's parents attended, which was more than slightly awkward; and Johnny's friends from school all showed up as a crowd to support him. And also to make fun of him for joining a boyband. But Johnny took that fairly well, and was actually far better in front of the reporters with his friends there than he had been in awhile.

The open house went well, even the (not so) spontaneous a cappella the band had broken into after the meal. It was an impressive showing, with a great reaction, and Weisel just kept telling them over and over how much buzz they had going, how much the press loved them, and how they'd better be perfect in their debut or else they were fired.

And that was it for Johnny.

Everyone cleared out to leave the band on their own for the night, and Johnny called a meeting. "Hey, guys." He leaned casually against the wall. "I've been thinking."

"There's a first time for everything," CJ noted.

"Shut up. I've been thinking, you know. I'm not sure this is right for me."

There was a long silence, and Chris opened his mouth; Richard kicked him hard under the table, and said, "What do you mean, exactly?"

"I mean… I don't think I can handle this. It's just too much pressure, and anyway, I kind of miss going to school."

"Freak," Chris muttered quietly, and Rich kicked him again.

"But we're so close," Rich said, concerned. "Can't you wait until the debut to make your decision? I mean… It's hard doing all the preparation, but once we're actually performing, you might feel differently."

"I don't think so," Johnny answered. "And you guys are all better than I am anyway, and I don't want to wait because I want you guys to be able to have your _real_ line up when you debut. I just… can't be in it."

"But—"

"I called my Mom. She's gonna come take me home tonight. I'll call Weisel once I get home… I'm really sorry."

He got up from the table and walked out of the room, and everyone else sat in silence, staring at each other.

Finally, Nick cleared his throat. "Great," he said. "Now where the hell are we going to get a bass singer in under a week?"

* * *

**AN:** It becomes more obvious which band member is which newsie later, so for the sake of not confusing people too much, here's the list (thus far):

Chris: Dutchy

Richard: Specs

Alejandro: Bumlets (_sigh)_

CJ: Swifty

Nick: Mush

Johnny: Snitch

Sorry for the long break between updates. Senior year is a bitch, but we're working on it and hoping to have the fic done by graduation. Please, God…


	5. Five

_Five._

Chris was quiet and worried and withdrawn, and that was never a good sign. It hadn't happened since… Ever, that Rich could recall. Not that he could blame Chris; now that he was on board for the band, he wanted to see them succeed. And having a week until their first show and no one to sing bass (let alone fill in the holes in the five-person dance routines) was not exactly a good way to kick off their career.

They'd called an emergency band meeting as soon as Johnny had left. Weisel had shown up, yelling and angry; he'd called Rich's mom, who was now staying in a local hotel and looking for an apartment so she could be close to her son as he began his career again, and she just kept telling him over and over that it would be okay.

Which was more irritating than it was reassuring.

"…Well, of course we'll have to cancel the Nick show—"

"We're _not_ canceling their debut!" Rich's mother shrieked.

"Mom…"

"Richard, honey, don't worry, I'll take care of everything."

_"Mom."_

"With under a week, _Mrs. Alcott,_ I don't think it's practical—"

"It's _Ms._ Alcott, and frankly, I don't appreciate your attempts to shut down this project before it even has a chance to—"

"Mom!"

"Rich, sweetie, I'm taking care of—"

"Ms. Alcott? Mr. Weisel?" Nick interrupted. "I, um, I'm glad we're having this meeting and all… but I think it might be better if we… you know… calmed down some."

"We don't have _time_ to calm down!" CJ yelled back at him. "This is the time to panic!"

"CJ, panicking isn't going to solve anything. And anyway—"

"Anyway, without a bass, there's really no way to—"

"We can _find_ a bass—"

"We're so _screwed—"_'

"Mo-_om!"_

"HEY!"

The group fell silent for a moment and they all turned to stare at Chris. Rich had to acknowledge that Chris definitely _did_ know how to use his lungs to project; people a block away had probably wondered what that yell was about. Assuming they hadn't overheard the whole fight.

Chris cleared his throat. "I agree with Nick that fighting isn't going to do any good, and I agree with CJ that we don't have a lot of time, so I think maybe instead of fighting about it we should come up with a plan."

"And did you have any _suggestions?"_ Weisel demanded.

"Yes," Chris said, nodding slightly.

There was a long silence, and finally, _"Well?"_

"I was just thinking that, well, Rich's voice coach—Sherman, right?—he probably knows other voice coaches in the state, right?"

Richard nodded.

"So, um, wouldn't one of them almost certainly be coaching a bass singer somewhere? I mean, I bet he'd be able to get us a list in a day or so… Which doesn't leave a _lot_ of time to rehearse with whoever it is, but it's better than arguing and screaming and then by the time we _do_ find someone being out of time…"

Richard gaped. The adults began talking again, more calmly, and discussed the idea; but really, Rich just stared, kind of incredulously. And finally he elbowed Chris in the side.

"What?" Chris demanded.

"Since when are _you_ rational and… diplomatic?"

Chris shrugged. "This band means a lot to me. I want to do well…. And we're too good to fall apart now."

Rich nodded. "Well… good job, then."

Chris just nodded and went back to listening to the discussion, but he smiled a little.

* * *

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

"Yeah, well, you are."

"But I don't _want_ to."

"Oh, stop whining." Rich spun the wheel and they pulled into the high school parking lot.

"All my memories of this place are bad ones."

"Stop _whining."_

"Riiiiiiiiiich."

Richard gave him a disgusted look. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Well… duh."

Richard sighed. "Chin up, it's good publicity."

"It's _pointless_ publicity."

"No such thing." Rich shoved Chris lightly as they walked. Chris scowled. "Anyway, I have friends in the show."

"I don't."

"But since I'm going, you're going; and if you don't go, you'll look bitter."

"I _am_ bitter!"

"Oh, deal with it. It's a couple of hours." He took his key out of the ignition and swung his door open, but kept talking. "And anyway, it would look bad for me to go and not you. And it could be fun."

"Ha!" Chris slammed his door shut. "Since when is amateur theater in a high school auditorium fun?"

"Since there are other people listening, and you have to shut up now?" Rich suggested.

Chris scowled, but fell into step with Richard, and as they got closer to the building he threw on a fake smile. It was hard to keep up when faced with the damn double doors that led into the auditorium, but at least he had the satisfaction of knowing he'd never be stuck in that class again.

At least, not if the band succeeded.

There was no way Chris was going to let the band not succeed.

Richard waved at a few people as they headed in to take their seats; Chris sat and thumbed through the program, bored. He managed not to even roll his eyes as he read the cast list. Though he did find himself thinking, _Siamese Child Number Eight my _ass. But he didn't say it aloud.

The lights dimmed, and Chris leaned back and shut his eyes lightly. Maybe, now that it was dark, he could at least get some sleep. If he was lucky.

Sleep turned out to not be an option; if there was nothing else positive to say about the theater, it did have _great_ acoustics. So grudgingly, Chris watched. The actress playing Anna was both shrill and nasal, and the King was short and had thick glasses. Chris bit down a smirk. Maybe it was for the best he hadn't been involved. It wasn't exactly… _quality._

A few of the others were good, though. The annoying kid was as non-annoying as possible; Lady Thiang, the head wife, was excellent.

And then there was Alejandro.

Chris didn't want to admit anything about Alex's performance; he crossed his arms and glared at the stage the moment he stepped on. But Alex was one of the few performers who actually had some sort of presence on stage; he had enough charisma in the role that Chris didn't have much of a choice but to watch him.

Still, though. He didn't want to admit that it was _possible_ Alex had actually been well cast. Just because he actually _could_ sing, even the bottom of the bass line; and just because it looked like they'd had an entirely different choreographer for him, because he moved so smoothly…

Richard elbowed him, hard, in the side.

"What?" Chris demanded, just as happy to pull himself away from the performance on stage.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Um… No?" He rubbed his side where he'd been elbowed.

"Well, _listen._ And look."

"At?"

"Alejandro."

Chris glanced up on stage. "So?"

"So he's singing bass, Chris."

"So?"

"And he can dance."

"So?"

"So…" Richard elbowed him again.

"Oh, no." Chris shook his head. "No. No no no no no no no no."

"Oh _yes._ We'll talk after the show's done."

"No we _won't."_

Richard elbowed him again, as they got shhhed loudly from an old lady the row ahead of them. But Richard did make a point to elbow Chris every time Alex stepped onto the stage.

* * *

"I'm gonna go talk to him about it."

"Nope. My bedtime is ten o'clock. You'd better get me home."

"Ha. Shut up."

"Richard, we don't even know if Weisel would _let_ us—"

"There's no harm in asking, right? And it's faster if we find him, snag him, and can start rehearsing, like, _tomorrow_ than if we have to wait for people to fly in."

"But—"

"It's just a thought. Nothing definite. Come _on."_ Richard grabbed Chris's arm and pulled him into the lobby, where families were gathering around the performers, cooing excitedly. It was crowded, but Richard was determined; he managed to pick out Alejandro and pulled Chris in that direction.

Chris was remarkably talented at dragging his feet.

"You know, Sherman did call earlier; he said he had a list."

"Good for him."

"Some of the people were only half an hour away. Well, maybe an hour."

"Yeah."

"It wouldn't be hard for _them_ to audition, either."

"That's nice." Richard gave Chris's head a pat, and Chris glowered at him in a way that usually meant he was plotting some sort of childish revenge. Even if it was just eating the rest of the ice cream. But Richard managed to ignore that and waved, shouting brightly, "Alejandro! Hey, Alejandro!"

Chris wrenched his arm away and Richard kicked the side of his foot, but now they were right by Alejandro's family. His mother was speaking in rapid Spanish, and hugging Alejandro tightly; he looked kind of embarrassed by the whole thing. His father was standing next to him, and by the time Richard had realized the tiny bundle of energy between them was Alejandro's sister, she'd somehow managed to wrap herself around Chris.

Richard stared for just a second, but Chris seemed to have it under control. He greeted her with a giant hug and then commented, "You know, your brother did a pretty great job tonight!"

Chris being helpful was new.

"Um… Thanks," Alejandro said sheepishly. "Rosalia, don't hang on him…"

Chris laughed and stood up, and gave Alejandro a friendly chuck on the arm. "You know, you _were_ pretty good, Alex."

"Yeah," Richard cut in, getting over the shock of Chris being _nice._ "We just wanted to let you know. It was a good show."

Rosalia had still not stopped staring at Chris, and she cleared her throat and asked, "Why weren't _you_ in the show, Chris?"

Richard almost choked, trying not to laugh.

But Chris just grinned down at her. "Actually, I'm kind of working on a new project now."

"Really?" she asked, sounding awed. "Is it another TV show?"

"Nah." He put a casual arm around Rich's shoulder, and Rich realized abruptly that this whole thing was an almost stunningly brilliant act. "See, Rich and I are in a band now."

"You're in a _band?"_ she squeaked. "That's so _cool!"_

"Well, actually," Rich cut in, "we're looking for another singer. Of the bass variety." He looked expectantly at Alejandro, who blinked.

"Oh," he said.

Chris's grip on Richard's shoulder tightened rather abruptly, and Rich was pretty sure his fingernails were going to leave marks.

"Yeah," Richard said. "And you _do_ have a great voice, Alejandro."

"Um. Thanks."

"Hey, uh, I know that you've got to be pretty excited right now and it's already getting late, but if you could give us a call when you get home, we'd really appreciate it."

"I, uh—"

"Rosalia," Chris interrupted, flashing her a huge smile, "don't you think your brother would be _great_ in a band?"

"Uh…" She looked suspiciously at him and Rich, and then over at her brother, and finally said, "_My_ brother? In a band with _you?"_

"Well, if he wants to audition, we'd love him to."

She stared for a second, then nodded. "I think he'd be _great."_

Chris glanced up at Alejandro. "So… Can you give us a call?"

Rosalia nodded excitedly at him.

He swallowed. "I… I guess so," he finally said.

"Great!" Rich dug out one of Weisel's cards, with their number on it, and handed it to Alejandro. "Have a great night, Alejandro. You were awesome."

"'Night!" Chris called, as they started off.

Richard could hear four voices talking in excited Spanish behind them.

* * *

"So," Richard said, as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"What?"

"You were _charming._"

"I'm an actor."

"You played his little sister perfectly."

"She's a cutie."

"But you didn't _want_ him to audition for us," Richard reminded him.

"Still don't."

"But—"

"What did you _want_ me to do, Rich?" He could hear Chris roll his eyes. "You got the idea, you dragged me over there, and it wasn't like I could stand there and be _mean_ to the guy."

"But that's what you _do."_

"Not in public. I wouldn't want to look bitter, now, would I?"

Richard shook his head. Sometimes, he really believed that being a child star could screw a kid up.

* * *

"Well, that was very impressive," Weisel said, shaking Alex's hand. "Very good. We'll get back to you… Probably today. We're very excited. And on a short schedule. But that was very good."

Alex nodded. "Thanks," he said. "It was an honor to be invited to audition." He waved at the band members, plus Rich's mom, and made his way out.

The door shut, and it was only a second later that the comments started flying.

"He was so good!" CJ was jumping up and down in his chair. "Did you see him? He was so good!"

"I can't believe he hasn't danced since he was a kid," Nick added. "Or had vocal training. I mean, that's _talent."_

"So boys," Rich's mom put in, "do we have our bass singer?"

"No!" Chris yelped. "No, okay, look, he was good and all, but, I mean, don't you think we should look at a few other people? Just to make sure?"

"Time is of the essence," Weisel said. "He can sing and dance and he paints a good picture—we're _ethnic_ if he joins."

"Shouldn't we give anyone else a chance? And—is it really right to exploit someone's ethnicity to—"

"Chris, shove it." Richard rolled his eyes and kicked Chris under the table. "I know you feel threatened by him and all, but—"

"Shut up! I do not!"

"—he's perfect, and he's even nice, so you'll just have to work through that. I'll give him… twenty minutes to get home, and then call."

Weisel nodded approvingly.

"So you're not even going to let anyone else try out? But what if—OW! Stop kicking me!"

"You're such a child, Chris." Richard smirked at him. "And if you'd rather I gagged you…"

"Why, you have some BDSM fantasies you want to work out?" Chris shot back.

"Hey! My _mother_ is in the room, asshole!"

"That wasn't a denial," Chris pointed out helpfully, then, "Ow! Stop kicking me!"

* * *

The band waited around the speaker phone as Weisel dialed, except for Chris, who was standing at the back of the room, pouting. At two rings, the phone was picked up and a heavily accented female voice asked, "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Mrs. Cortez?"

"Yes, who's calling?"

"This is Theodore Weisel, the manager of the V-Tones. Is your son Alejandro home?"

"He… He just walked in the door. Please hold on."

Chris scowled at no one in particular, but at least Richard was too far away to kick him. And a moment later there was the noise of another line being picked up. "Hello?"

"Alex! This is Mr. Weisel calling."

"Uh… Hi."

"Well, the band has talked about your audition today. They've decided they'd be just _thrilled_ if you would join in. Your audition was _spectacular."_

"Uh… Thanks, I guess."

"So can we expect to see you at the house in, say, an hour? We're eager to start rehearsals."

"Well… Here's the thing," Alejandro said slowly. "I'm not so sure I should do this. I mean… I do have my show tonight and this weekend and all—"

"Yes, but we can work around that for the weekend—"

"—and anyway, it's not really…" He trailed off.

"It's not really _what?"_ Weisel asked sharply, as the band members looked around at one another, slightly shocked and definitely unhappy. Even Chris.

"I just… There are a lot of things I'd like to do. I'd like to go to college and I don't want to miss all of my friends, and I'm not sure I'm the sort of guy you're looking for, anyway."

"You were _perfect,_ you're exactly what we're looking for."

"Maybe… But, look, I really don't think I can do it. I'm sorry I wasted your time, okay? I hope you find someone good."

"But… But…"

Richard cut in abruptly. "Hey, Alejandro? It's Richard."

"…Yeah?"

"I don't supposed you'd like to… talk about it?"

"Richard, there's not a lot to talk about, I—"

"Come on, humor me. Chris and I can drop by, just for a _few_ minutes."

Behind him, Chris mouthed, "Oh, _thanks,"_ and rolled his eyes.

"But—"

"Come on, it can't hurt. And if you don't want to do it, no one can force you to. Just give us a little time to try and see if we can work this out. You were so great, we really want to at least _try_ and convince you. Please?"

There was a long pause, and then a sigh. "Fine," Alejandro said finally. "You can drop by for a _few_ minutes."

"We'll be right over."

* * *

Alejandro was from a pleasant, if slightly run down, neighborhood. A lot of kids were outside playing; a few adults were walking dogs. It was hard not to notice that they were all predominantly Hispanic, which just reinforced Weisel's comment about making the band more ethnically appealing.

Alejandro's house was bright and cheery, though; a springtime garden bloomed out front, a cat and dog roamed the yard, and the mailbox had a climbing vine plant twined around it. "Behave yourself," Richard warned.

"I _am._ I'm here, aren't I?"

"And I'm suspicious."

Chris rolled his eyes and rang the doorbell, and a moment later Alejandro opened the door. He looked slightly exasperated. "Hi," he mumbled, sounding none too thrilled.

"Hey."

"H'lo."

"Uh… Come on in, I guess." He stood aside and the two shuffled in, and were greeted by the loud squawking of some kind of bird in another room. "Mama, can you calm that thing down?" he called. "The stupid parakeets always do this when someone new comes in. Honestly, it's _dogs_ that are supposed to be the loud animals… uh… Yeah." He shrugged, trailing off.

"I think that's the longest sentence you've ever said," Richard noted.

Alejandro shrugged a little, as his mother walked in to join them. "Hello again, it's nice to see you." She smiled warmly. "Can I get you anything? Why don't you come talk in the kitchen; Rosalia and I are baking cookies."

Chris and Richard exchanged glances, and finally Chris said cheerfully, "I've never met a fresh baked cookie I didn't like."

"This way, then." Alejandro gave him a slightly odd look, and then led the way further into the house. They stepped into the kitchen, where the scent of baking cookies wafted through the room.

Rosalia was standing at one of the counters, stirring a bowl of something that was most likely batter, but judging by how much of it covered her, the outside of the bowl, and the surrounding area, there wasn't a lot left _in_ the bowl to stir. She looked up and _eep_ed slightly. "Hi, Chris," she finally said, giving him an adoring look.

"Hey, Rosalia. Wow, it smells _great_ in here!" Chris answered brightly.

"Mama and I are baking cookies. The first batch is in the oven already. You can have some if you want. When they're done."

"That would be great."

"Ught, I didn't realize what a mess it was in here," Mrs. Cortez sighed. "Rosalia…" She shook her head. "Well, why don't we clean up some? You boys might as well just talk in the rec room downstairs, it's more comfortable anyway. Don't worry, we'll bring your cookies." She laughed a little, and Rosalia giggled, and Alejandro rolled his eyes.

_"This_ way, come on. Thanks, Mama…" He sounded even more exasperated now, as he led them back out of the kitchen, and down a short staircase into the rec room.

He flipped the light on, and both Chris and Richard went kind of speechless. It was a warm room with an old, ragged couch and a few beanbag chairs; two walls were lined by bookshelves, and the other with stuffed animals. And above one of the bookshelves hung an oversized poster from _Game On,_ Chris's show, and a grinning Chris Ivers looked down from the middle. There were other posters hanging up—the split between Alejandro's relatively male posters and Rosalia's little girl ones was almost even—but that one was the most prominent.

No one spoke for a second.

"Look, it was Rosalia's favorite show," Alejandro finally blurted.

"Did I say anything?" Chris answered. Richard kicked him, and he glared back.

"No, I just… Feel kind of silly. I guess." Alejandro shrugged. "And yeah, she's making those cookies for _you,_ so you'd better like them."

"I _like_ cookies," Chris answered. "And I promise I'll like them, even if they're burned and have no sugar or… whatever."

"Good." Alejandro hesitated. "The couch is more comfortable than it looks, _so…"_

Richard grabbed Chris and dragged him to the couch, though he kept glancing uneasily up at the poster. Something about the giant image of Chris on one side, with the actual Chris on the other side, was just kind of eerie.

Alejandro took a bean bag and had to crane his neck slightly to look up at them.

"So…" he said.

Richard leaned forward. "Look, Alejandro, we _know_ why you're hesitant. We do. But you have to understand—you're perfect. We couldn't have dreamed up a better bass singer. You're _perfect."_

"You're better than Johnny was," Chris put in, glancing over at one of the bookshelves. He squinted slightly behind his glasses, and was pretty sure he could make out a significant portion of the book series his TV show had spawned, though he didn't comment on it.

"Well… Good, I guess, but…" He shrugged. "It doesn't solve my problems. And anyway, I really don't think you want me."

"I really think we do," Richard answered. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, I'm…" He looked distractedly at Chris, who guiltily turned his attention back to the conversation at hand. "I guess it's not a huge secret at school but I didn't exactly _talk_ about it, you know?"

"What?"

Richard kicked Chris again. "He means he's gay, Chris."

_"Oh."_ Chris smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, didn't realize."

Alejandro shrugged and looked down at his hands, uncomfortable. "So I'm guessing that's not… Really boyband material."

"You kidding?" Richard shot back. "It's the entertainment industry; everybody's gay."

"I don't think that's true."

"Chris?" Richard prompted. "You?"

Chris shrugged. "Well, bi, yeah, but I don't exactly tell reporters that."

"Ditto," Richard admitted.

"And I'm pretty sure that Nick—in our band—is gay."

"And the Uptown Boyz are _totally_ gay."

"Really?" Alejandro asked.

"Um, _yes._ Straight guys don't dress like that. And anyway, Weisel said so." Richard kicked Chris preemptively, but Chris kicked back. He wasn't stupid enough to point out blatant lies when they were working.

"Are you guys serious?"

Chris shrugged easily. "I lost my virginity to a guy, so… yes."

"You're fifteen!" Alejandro yelped. "I mean…"

"Entertainment industry," Chris reminded him. "It's not that big a deal."

"You're _fifteen."_ Alejandro sounded slightly stunned, and was definitely blushing.

"But the point is," Richard put in, "it doesn't matter. I mean, yes, we pretend we're straight for the sake of the little girls, but you've _got_ to have noticed that the whole boyband concept is pretty damn homoerotic."

"Yeah, but… That aside, I want to go to college."

"Who says you can't?" Richard asked. "I mean, maybe not immediately, but you've got to admit… Spending time in a boyband makes for a pretty good entrance essay."

Alejandro shrugged. "But… I don't know. I don't think you think of it like I do."

"What do you mean?"

"I'd be the first person in my family to _go_ to college. And my parents both worked so hard to make it so I can—and I've always pushed myself, that's always been my goal. It's all I've worked towards and I don't know if I can just… give that up."

"But if we're successful, then not only could you get into college with no problem, and afford college with no problem, but you'd also be able to send your _sister_ to college, and your parents… I mean, you're the kind of guy who'd want to support them. And you could," Richard answered.

"I—"

He was cut off by footsteps on the stairs, and Rosalia appeared, holding a tray of cookies with three cups of milk carefully balanced in the middle. "Those smell awesome," Rich noted, and Alejandro sprang up to help her carry them, and set them down on a coffee table by the couch.

"Thanks, Rosalia," he said, and ruffled her hair.

"I didn't bake them for _you."_ She gave Chris that adoring look again.

He noticed that, taped up next to the poster, was the piece of paper he'd signed for her. "It's pretty cool that you can cook," he said, taking one. "I mean, I sure can't."

She hesitated, then decided she was shy again and blushed and hid behind her brother. He took a bite and reached for the cup of milk to swallow. "Really good!" he proclaimed, and she peeked out.

"Thanks," she said shyly.

Alejandro looked bemused. "Since when are _you_ shy, kiddo?"

She squeaked and hid, then peaked out again to say, "I put up your autograph by Alejandro's poster."

Chris and Richard exchanged looks, and Alejandro looked kind of mortified. "Oh, I saw. These are _real_ good cookies," Chris said quickly.

"You were his favorite on the show. He got all your books too. And CDs from the show 'cause you were on them. He hung up the pictures in his room."

"Okay, Rosalia, that's enough, thanks for the cookies, you'd better go help Mama clean up. Right now."

"But—"

"Scat!" He steered her by her shoulders back towards the staircase, and she started out, then paused at the foot of the stair.

_"Bye,_ Chris. You should come visit again. I'll make more cookies."

"I definitely will," he promised, and Alejandro looked like he was being choked. He turned back towards the others.

"Not _one_ word. Please, for the love of God," he pleaded.

"Okay," Chris answered.

"So about the band… Wow, these _are_ good cookies," Richard started.

"Yeah, Mama made them."

"I figured." Richard paused. "So… You in?"

"No! I said, I can't. I can't let my parents down like that."

"But…" Chris hesitated. "I mean, is it letting them down? They want you to do well, I know, but if you want to try something else—it doesn't mean you failed at the first thing."

Alejandro shook his head. "You don't understand. I… I don't even know why _you_ want me in the band. You made it pretty clear at school you didn't even _like_ me."

He sounded so dejected that Chris almost winced.

"I was… I…" Chris groaned. "I was _jealous."_

"No kidding," Richard mumbled, and Chris kicked _him._

"It was just, I didn't fit in at all… And you saw how bad I suck at actual classes… and, well, I thought I'd at least get into the play and fit in _there_ but I couldn't even manage that. I mean, do I look like a Siamese child to you? Or a Siamese anything? I'm _blond!_ Very blond! So I just… I mean, you _got_ an awesome part in the show, and I was seriously jealous because I didn't realize how much you deserved it… And now I do… So I'm sorry."

There was a stunned, awkward quiet moment.

"Oh," Alejandro said. "I… Oh."

"So I really… I really think you'd be great."

"Thanks. But I still… I just can't. I'm sorry." He shrugged and took a cookie. "I'm really sorry," he added.

"Hey, at least we got cookies out of the trip," Richard said amicably. "Thanks, Alejandro, we'll see you around." He stood up and pulled Chris up after him. "I guess we'll… head off, then."

"I'll definitely listen to your band," Alejandro promised.

"Thanks." Rich grinned cheerfully, and Chris raised an eyebrow, but since he hadn't been kicked in a while assumed everything was okay. Or that Richard was up to something. Or possibly both.

They started to walk towards the stairs, but Alejandro asked quietly, "Chris?"

"Yeah?" Chris turned.

"I, uh, just…" He was blushing again. "Could you sign my poster? Please?"

Chris broke into a real grin. "No problem, Alex."

Alejandro dug through a desk and produced a marker, and Chris signed at the bottom of the poster in big letters, and winked at Alejandro as they headed out.

It wasn't until they were on the outside porch, door shut after them, that Richard turned to Chris and announced, "And now, Plan B."

"There's a Plan B?"

"Yep. I didn't want to have to do this, though. He's such a nice guy."

"What are you _doing?"_

"Calling my mother."


	6. Six

_Six._

"What did you _say_ to him?"

"Oh, nothing, dear. I didn't actually talk to Alejandro, I talked to his mother; she was very understanding."

"Really?" Richard asked, surprised.

"Well, eventually."

"Uh… Eventually? How many times did you call?"

"Oh, don't you worry about that, dear."

The band, plus Ms. Alcott and Weisel, were sitting tensely around the living room, waiting for the phone to ring. Alejandro was supposed to call with a _final_ final decision any minute, and since there were only four days to prepare, it was a do or die situation.

"So Chris, uh… What made you change your mind?" Richard asked. "I mean, I know you got over your whole jealousy thing—"

"Shut up," Chris interrupted.

"—but still, you really didn't want him in the band. And then you did."

Chris shrugged. "He was good when he auditioned."

"So?"

"So, I don't know. I guess he's not such a bad guy, and it's just easier to find someone local."

Richard raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. Chris didn't sound like he was being entirely honest, but Rich also knew better than to push him. He was being agreeable, finally, so that was worth a little bit of lying.

"So…" CJ sighed. "What are we gonna do if he _doesn't_ say yes?"

"He'll say yes," Ms. Alcott assured him.

"Mom, what did you _do_ to him? Threaten to burn his house down?"

"Richard, that's not very funny."

"Who's joking?" Rich mumbled, but let it go.

CJ began tapping his fingers nervously against the table. "But what if he _doesn't_ say yes? Johnny said yes!"

"Um… We all commit ritual suicide?" Nick suggested. "Or sacrifice Johnny to the gods of pop music?"

"That one sounds good. I can't _believe_ he… Aaaarg." CJ collapsed briefly back in his chair, overdramatic, but then sat up and began jiggling his leg up and down under the table. CJ had more energy than any other person on the entire planet, Richard decided. And the nervous energy was kind of infectious and even though Richard had _been_ fairly confident when they all sat down, he found himself doubting Alejandro's answer, and starting to worry about what would happen to the concert if they didn't have someone to sing bass and fill in the holes in the dance routines, and what if the band really wasn't a very good idea, and what if he couldn't do it and the audience hated him, and what if—

Nick was trying to calm CJ down, but Chris was watching Richard. "Um, you look a little green," Chris said. "Are you okay?"

"I feel kinda sick." Richard tried to take a deep breath. "I think I'm gonna puke—"

The phone rang, and Richard jumped up, but not to answer it. It continued to ring as he stumbled over to the trash can in the corner of the room and threw up, and everyone was so startled that the phone had rung five times before Ms. Alcott finally realized someone should pick it up.

"Hello, this is Virginia Alcott speaking."

The room went tense and silent, while she listened. Even Richard, kneeling next to the trash can, was watching her.

"…I see," she said. "Well, yes, but—Oh, of course we understand that."

Richard's heartbeat sped up and he felt another wave of nausea growing in his stomach.

"No, no, we will be very flexible; of course we want to secure _everyone's_ future… I see. Yes, yes, I see."

Richard tried to swallow the rising bile and groaned, hanging his head over the trash can again.

"Well, that's _wonderful!_ We'll see you just as soon as your performance tonight is over, you and your parents should come by to sign the contract…"

Her voice faded from Richard's consciousness. Sign the contract? Wonderful? He took a long, deep breath. Contracts meant someone saying yes. Saying yes meant singing bass, and dancing, and the concert could actually go on as planned.

Assuming Alejandro could learn everything in four days.

Richard threw up again.

* * *

"Virginia, I think we need to have a discussion." Weisel's voice was dark and unpleasant, and Virginia smiled primly as she sat down in his office.

"Of course, what can I help with?"

"I don't like that Richard was throwing up tonight."

"I'm sure he just has a bug, it'll be gone in no time."

"It's not a bug, Ms. Alcott, and I think we both know that."

"I don't know what you mean," she answered.

"It's not a secret that he used to have anxiety attacks before performances. It's not a secret that that's why he left his show."

"That was a long time ago. Richard is _fine_ now. Time away from performing fixed him right up."

"And he's so fine that he throws up when he's stressed?"

"I don't think that's a very accurate way of putting it at all." She folded her hands on the table in front of her and gave him her best showbiz mother glare. "My _son_ had a problem with anxiety when he was younger. And so in _extreme_ situations, he may have occasional problems; however, this is very different from an ordinary performance."

"He hasn't even performed yet," Weisel countered. "How can I be sure he can even go on stage?"

"Oh, he'll go on stage. He _loves_ being on stage."

"Than what happened today?"

"What happened today was him worrying that the band might not even exist, or that you'd cancel their performance. As I said, very different than just a concert or an interview. You've seen him in interviews; he's fine."

Weisel returned her glare and finally said, "Well, I suppose time will tell. But it's in his contract that if he can't perform, he's out."

"Don't you worry about a thing. Richard will be fine."

* * *

"I can't do this." Richard was sitting on his bed with another trash can pulled up in front of him. "I can't. Oh my god, I don't know what I was thinking."

"Hey, calm down." Chris was sitting backwards on his desk chair, looking as concerned as he was capable of looking. "You freaked out some, but you're fine now."

"I'm _not fine!_ We haven't even had a show yet and I'm freaking out, what the hell am I going to do when we go on stage? Puke on the audience?"

"Um, no. Also, gross," Chris answered.

"I can't, I just, I can't even… I'm just thinking about going on stage and I want to throw up, how the hell am I actually going to get on stage? I can't do it, you'll all get screwed over, I'll have to leave the band and you'll all hate me like you hate Johnny and oh my _god_ I'm going to throw up."

"Okay, well, why did you want to do it?"

Richard shrugged. "I missed it. I mean… You know what it's like. Being a part of everything… Being…"

"The center of attention?"

"Yeah, shut up." He groaned. "And I love it, I do. I love singing. It's just that if I screw up… I mean, screw up in front of _people…_ I mean, I don't want to get booed by anyone. I couldn't handle it. I _can't_ handle it. Oh my god…"

"You're not going to screw up and you're not going to get booed. Chill out."

"How do you _know_ that? I used to screw up all the time. Do you know how many lines I dropped on my show?"

"No. And neither does anyone else, because you're a really good actor. So on the rare occasion you mess up, you cover for it."

"But it's different with dancing because if you fall you can't pretend you were supposed to—"

"Rich, _I'm_ the one who has to worry about that, remember? I'm the one who screws up the dancing in rehearsal every day. You're perfect."

"I'm _not_ perfect!"

"Well, you're better than I am. And I don't say that a lot."

"No kidding." But Richard half-smiled at that.

"Look, I know you get freaked out… But we're good. We're really _good, _and you're a huge part of it. So you'll be fine."

"How do you know?"

"Because it's too important to you, and you wouldn't settle for anything less." Chris shrugged. "Now c'mon, let's go meet Alex. He should be here soon."

* * *

The band got up even earlier than usual the next morning, planning to do nothing but drill the songs and dances into Alejandro. They had four days to do it, and it wasn't a lot of time. But still, Alejandro showed up at rehearsal ready to focus, with an intensity that was almost intimidating.

He'd agreed to do it, so he was going to do it _well._

His face was serious—CJ insisted on referring to it as a game face—and he was wearing old sweatpants and a t-shirt, with a blue bandana pulling his hair out of his face. They'd sent him the lyrics the night before, and to everyone's surprise, he'd already memorized his parts. He didn't have the tunes down yet, though he'd studied the music, and it only took most of the morning to get the songs down. Alejandro had a good ear for music, and since the set they were planning was fairly short, after lunch they were ready to start on the choreography.

Their choreographer was surprisingly young, with hip looking spiked hair. His name was Wayne, and he was supposed to be one of the top dance talents in the country, despite his youth—only a few years older than the band members.

Chris watched Wayne and Alejandro shake hands, and Alejandro confessed he was feeling nervous. Chris opened his mouth to say something nice, figuring that it was the least he could do (and secretly hoping that now he might not be the worst dancer in the group), but before he could figure out what to say, Wayne had put an arm around Alejandro and was reassuring him that he'd pick up on the choreography pretty quickly.

As Alejandro turned to head to his starting spot in the back, Chris had to raise an eyebrow—Wayne was smirking and watching him _very_ closely as he walked. But when Alejandro turned around, Wayne was all business again. The first song they'd be doing ) was going to be their first single, an upbeat number called _Rippin' Out My Heart._ It was really the centerpiece to the show (they hadn't decided if it would be a closing or opening number yet) and the most complicated dance.

Wayne ran through the first thirty-two beats slowly, showing Alejandro his part, then put on the music and ran through it at full speed with the rest of the band. Alejandro watched intently, and Wayne asked if he wanted to give it a shot.

"I guess," Alejandro said hesitantly, and took his space. "The slide comes on the fourth beat, right?"

"You got it."

"I'm not sure I remember everything…"

"You'll be fine," Wayne assured him. "Just make sure you hit the pose at the end of the verse, and no one will notice."

"Don't worry," Chris put in. "No one hits it the first time, anyway."

"No, Chris; _you_ never hit it the first time," Richard mumbled.

"Bite me," Chris answered. He was feeling unusually charitable, and he didn't want to let Rich ruin his good mood.

"Okay, guys, let's go through it slowly. I'll give you all a beat," Wayne said, and started the metronome. "Ready, and four… three… two…" He snapped his fingers, and they fell into motion.

Chris watched intently in the mirrored front wall, and every time his gaze slid over to Alejandro, he noticed with growing irritation that Alejandro seemed to be keeping up perfectly. He finished the verse with the rest of them and hit the pose – which happened to be standing with a nonchalant elbow on CJ's shoulder.

"Wow!" Wayne said, looking impressed. "That was… pretty good. Maybe you could smile this time around, though?"

"Oh, sorry," Alejandro replied sheepishly.

"Don't apologize!" Nick exclaimed. "That was _awesome_."

For his part, Chris shrugged. So Alejandro had gotten it right the first time around; it was probably just a fluke. Didn't mean a thing.

But then they went through the verse again, and Alejandro did it again, this time with a dazzling smile.

Wayne's only comment was, "Man, you could _kill_ people with that smile."

Chris decided that he hated Alejandro, whose response was to grin lightly—a real smile, not a stage one.

"Okay, well, let's move on then. We don't have that long," Chris said quickly.

Richard raised an eyebrow. "Bite me," Chris mouthed at him, and Richard smirked. Wayne complied, though, and they started with the next verse, which Alejandro also aced. And on and on… Like he never ran out of energy and had somehow learned all of this in advance too.

"You've never had dance lessons, for serious?" Wayne asked, as they toweled off sweat and got ready for dinner.

"Well, when I was a kid… I mean, for a couple years."

"How long ago?"

"I dunno, I guess I was six… Maybe eight."

"You're a freaking prodigy, Alex," Nick said, grinning.

"You're a freaking prodigy, Alex," Chris mimicked to himself, earning him a light kick from Richard, who was finishing off a bottle of water.

"Be nice," Richard scolded. "We're _happy_ that he's here. And he's good. I mean, that's like… A quarter of the set he knows now. Which is _good._ Right?"

"Yeah, if he keeps up at this rate, he'll know the whole thing about five minutes before we go on," Chris shot back.

"And here I remember you being bad at math," Alejandro answered from across the room, as he fixed his bandana.

"Well, forgive me for being _concerned_ that we only have three days left and you don't even really know how to dance."

"Um, the way I remember it, you _asked_ me to do this," Alejandro answered.

"You're better than nothing. If only just."

"Chris!" CJ snapped. "Shut up!"

Chris looked away from Alejandro then, huffily, but did see him in the mirror. For just a second, Alejandro sagged where he was standing, eyes shut and looking a little miserable—but then he perked up again, smiled, and took a breath. Chris shrugged it off; if he was hurt, well, he'd have to learn to deal with it. The media would be a lot worse.

"Um, I guess… I'll go finish unpacking my stuff," Alejandro said finally, as they began filing out.

"You want help?" Wayne asked. "I usually stick around for dinner, make sure y'all remember stuff afterwards, before you're through for the night. And if CJ's only just ordering the pizza, we've got some time."

"On it!" CJ declared and dashed out of the room, yelling, "Pizza!" as he skipped.

"He kind of looks like a muppet when he does that," Nick observed, and everyone laughed except for Chris, who was still scowling.

"I guess… I could use the help," Alejandro said to Wayne. "I mean, I don't have that much stuff or anything, but I guess I could use the company."

"Oh, is _that_ what they're calling it these days…" Chris mumbled, and Richard actually smirked and looked amused before elbowing him and telling him to shut up. Alejandro ignored him, and Wayne shot him a dirty look, and they walked out of the room together. Nick followed quickly, and Chris finished tying his shoes and stood up.

"Is it just me, or was Wayne being a real asshole?" he asked Richard.

"Um… Just you?"

"No, he totally was. Didn't you see it? I saw it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, you're in show biz. You pick up on these things, don't you?"

_"What_ are you _talking_ about?" Richard snapped again.

"Wayne!"

"What about him!"

"He was—he—'Oh _Alejandro,_ you're the most _talented, divine_ dancer I've _ever seen,_ and I'm _not_ a creepy pedophile! Do you want to go hang out in your room?'" Chris snapped back, pitching his voice up high and mimicking Wayne's slight southern accent.

Richard stared at him, then cracked up. "Okay, you're insane."

"I'm serious."

"You're seriously insane."

"He was totally hitting on Alejandro, how did you miss that? Could he have touched him any more?"

"Um, he was showing him the choreography."

"He was feeling him up. There's not _that_ much pelvic thrusting in our dances!"

Richard shook his head. "You're nuts," he said. "And Wayne was really nice to him, so I don't know where the whole 'asshole' thing comes from."

"Yeah, nice, sure."

"Why does it bother you, anyway?" Richard demanded. "Alejandro's an adult, even if he and Wayne—"

"Choreographers shouldn't have such clear favorites!"

"Unless the favorite is you?"

"That's not what this is about!"

"You're just mad that you're such a bad dancer."

"I am! Not!"

"Wayne's never complimented you like that," Richard pointed out.

"Yeah, well, Wayne's never sexually harassed me, either, so that's okay."

"Nuts," he said. "You're _nuts._"

"And you're not taking me seriously!" Chris countered, his voice growing louder.

Richard shrugged fairly casually. "I usually don't."

Slamming his bag of sweaty dance clothes on the floor, Chris folded his arms angrily. "Fine. So don't listen to me. Pretend that I don't ever say things that are worth listening to. In fact, why not go ahead and just kick me some more? You're real good at that. _Here_." He jerked up his pants leg to expose his calf, and offered it in Richard's general direction.

Richard just stared at him, cocking an eyebrow and pushing his damp brown hair away from his forehead. "That's over-the-top even for you, Chris. Want me to go fetch a crown of thorns _now_, or are you planning to wait to martyr yourself till _after_ our show?"

With an inarticulate cry of frustration, Chris grabbed his bag, and, slinging it over his shoulder, stomped out of the room.

Behind him, Richard whistled under his breath. "I wonder what's eating _him_?"

* * *

Over the next three days, Alejandro did better than even the first day of work would have suggested. Even Chris had to admit that he was perfect for the part—he was focused and almost always picked up the dances on the first time through. And he was cute and could smile for cameras, or so Wayne kept saying. But then again, Chris was pretty sure that Wayne was growing creepier in front of them, and no one else seemed to notice.

They were sitting around at lunch on the day before the show, Wayne sitting next to Alejandro, talking about his previous choreography experiences. CJ and Nick were throwing more food than they were eating, arguing about which one of them was responsible for the giant mustard stain on the carpet, an argument which probably involved more jumping up and down than was strictly necessary. Richard was on the phone with Sherman, flipping out slightly, but he was doing better than he could have. He hadn't thrown up all day.

Chris was busy trying to avoid conversing with Richard's mother, who had appeared at the beginning of the meal, having their schedule memorized. (If Wayne was creepy about Alejandro, then she was creepy like a stalker, and seemed to materialize from nowhere every time they had a break.)

"Mister Weisel will be here in a minute," she said cheerily. "He stopped for lunch."

"No kidding." Chris rolled his eyes and picked at his food. Across the room, Alejandro was laughing at something, and when he glanced up, Wayne was grinning, too. He was tempted to call out to them to get a room, but explaining that in front of Ms. Alcott didn't sound very fun, so he ignored it.

"What's this meeting about?" Richard asked, hanging up his phone. "Isn't everything all worked out? I mean, we're on tomorrow night… It had better be, right?"

"Oh, dear, that's all set to go. It's just a matter of publicity, that's all. Ah, I hear his car now."

Sure enough, there was the sound of a car door shutting, and a minute later the corpulent manager walked in. "What's the word, Wayne? Are we set?"

"Absolutely, we finished with the last song this morning. Alejandro is brilliant."

Chris glowered.

"Good. This is just a quick meeting, shouldn't take too long, there are just a few things to discuss. Is everyone paying attention?"

CJ guiltily put the mustard bottle down, and Nick batted his eyelashes.

Weisel cleared his throat. "Basically, it's this. The press is going to be all over the concert tomorrow, and we really need to focus on the image. We need to be stylish and catchy—we need the youth market."

"No kidding," Richard said.

"What I'm saying is, we need to avoid having anything… Confusing. Our image has to be clear cut, really appeal to middle America."

It was Alejandro who raised an eyebrow. "What about us isn't clear cut?" he asked slowly, suspiciously.

"Well, I'm glad you asked that, Alejandro, because you see… That's the problem."

"What?"

"Well, I know that at school, most of the students called you Alex."

"Which I hated."

"Maybe, but I think that returning to that nickname might be a very beneficial publicity move."

"What?" he demanded. "What are you talking about?"

The rest of the band was glancing around uncomfortably, not sure whose side to take, or really what was going on.

"It's just that the name Alejandro might be a bit hard for some of our younger fans to pronounce, do you see?"

"I don't see. It's my _name."_

"If you'd rather go by Alexander, then by all means—"

"No!"

"But you see, while we're glad to have a varied group of ethnicities here, if we try and be _too_ cutting edge, _too_ diverse, we're going to lose some fans in a few of the more conservative regions of the country."

"But—"

"Hey," Richard interrupted. "Come on, you're the one who said it was _good_ to be ethnic when we interviewed him."

"Oh, it _is,_ it's just that the business of being a band is as much politics as it is entertainment, and ethnicity is good entertainment, but as for politics…"

"But that's not fair," Richard snapped. "I mean, his name is Alejandro—he's _Latino,_ and what's wrong with being proud of it? Are you going to tell CJ he shouldn't talk about math or science in interviews so he doesn't seem too Asian?"

"Wow, that's a bit of a jump," CJ put in. "And I suck at math anyway."

"I'm _not_ talking about stereotypes, Richard," Weisel tried to explain. "Just that our fans need to be able to identify with you boys."

"And who are our Latino fans going to identify with if you won't let me be proud of my culture?" Alejandro demanded.

"Word, brotha."

Everyone turned to stare at Nick, having almost forgotten that he was a part of the debate, too—but he gestured at his face, ran a hand through his hair, and shrugged.

"I'm _not_ saying you shouldn't be proud of your heritages, boys—"

"Mister Weisel," Ms. Alcott put in, "you know I worry about our image as much. as you do, and we don't want to alienate anyone. But diversity is very _hip_ these days, and if you don't mind, I believe I have a solution to _all_ of these problems."

Everyone looked around, almost nervously, and finally Weisel prompted, "Well?"

"What if, rather than their actual names, _all_ of them use nicknames? It's a good move—it shows how close they are, affectionate. Brotherly, remember?"

"Hmm… That could work," Weisel said, nodding slowly. "But I would get to veto the nicknames, if they don't work. Chris?"

"What?"

"You're Dutchy."

Chris blinked. "Okay," he said. It wasn't as though he'd never been called Dutchy outside of his show before; it was his best known character. There was even an entire line of children's books based on the character, and fans on the street were more likely to know him as Dutchy than as Chris Ivers. Certainly more likely that than Kristoff, he thought vaguely. "If you can get the rights to it," he added.

"Oh, leave that to me. The rest of you might as well begin brainstorming."

"How long do we have to do this?" CJ asked.

"Until tomorrow afternoon. Well, I'll leave you to lunch—and you'd better get back to work soon. Wayne, I want them to be able to do these routines in their sleep."

"No problem," Wayne answered.

"Well, then. I'll be in my office." Weisel swept out of the room, and everyone else stared around at each other.

* * *

Rehearsal the rest of the day was full of more yelling than usual. Chris was glad his nickname had been decided for him already, because if he heard one more yell of, "Moron Face Who Can't Step In Time!" he was going to kill someone.

Wayne, for his part, looked pained.

"Mustard Spilling Thief!"

"Crazy Hallucinating… Dude!"

"Dude, weak," Nick shot back at CJ.

"Would you two please focus?" Wayne asked tiredly.

"That really doesn't seem very likely, does it… Crazy Pants?"

"Smelly Face!"

"Twinkle Toes!"

"No, that's Alejandro." Nick paused and regarded CJ. "Um… Orange Hair Dyed… Guy?"

"You're reaching there, Guy Whose Hair Is In Serious Danger Of Becoming An Afro."

"Would you two please, _please,_ _please_—"

"Swifty!" Nick interrupted. "Oh my god, it's perfect!"

"Swifty?" Richard repeated.

CJ blanched, looking horrified. "Oh, that was not funny."

"I bet your ex-girlfriend thinks it is."

"Shut up! I have _stamina,_ man!"

Nick started laughing too hard at that, and there was really nothing that could be done. Swifty stuck, with a solemn promise from them all to never explain why to anyone else.

That made for two out of five. Richard's came next, easily; he kept taking off his glasses to wipe sweat off them. As CJ and Nick kept brainstorming nicknames for everyone else, he thoughtfully wiped them on his shirt. "You know what? I have glasses. I'll be Specs."

"That's lame, Anxiety Boy."

"CJ, shut up."

"Don't make fun of his disorder, you'll just make it worse," Wayne scolded.

"Thanks, Wayne." Richard rolled his eyes.

"Sir Pukes-a-Lot?"

"CJ, I swear to _god—"_

"Specs," Richard said firmly. "Because of my glasses. _Specs."_

"Well, I still think it's lame." CJ pouted.

"Do you have a problem, _Swifty?"_

"Shut up!"

Nick's came next, after a particularly interesting fall in the middle of a song. He somehow landed with one leg behind him and the other one bent, and he caught himself and jumped back up effortlessly.

"It's like your bones are made of mush," Alejandro observed.

"Hm, Mush," CJ mused. "It's kind of… gross. I like that."

"You would," Nick answered. "Mustard Boy."

"I told you, I didn't steal the mustard!"

"You also told me about your ex-girlfriend, but I know for a fact that one was a lie." Nick smirked, and CJ scowled, and no one asked.

"Mush works," Richard said, cutting off what would probably be another yelling match between the two of them. "If it's okay with you, Nick."

"Can we tell people it's because my smile turns girls to mush?" he asked, grinning.

"Perfect!" Wayne announced. "Now, to get back to work—"

"Girls," CJ mumbled. "Yeah, right."

"Hey, they like me, regardless of how I feel about _them."_

"God only knows why…"

"Oh, hush. You're just jealous." Nick blew CJ a kiss, and CJ scowled.

"Uh…" Chris said. "How long have you two been sleeping together for?"

"Two days," CJ answered. "Aren't we just the cutest thing in the whole world?"

"Huh, well, good luck being less obvious about that in public," Wayne said. "Now can we please get back to _work?"_

"But we still need a nickname for Alejandro!" CJ yelped.

"No, that's fine," Alejandro answered. "We can work now and, uh, come back to that later."

"Thank you, Alejandro."

"But we're on a roll!"

"Nick, can you make him shut up?" Richard asked.

Nick raised an eyebrow and licked his lips. "Not in public. Can we take a break? It won't take very long, he's fast."

"You are so not getting any tonight."

"Uh huh." Nick didn't sound terribly concerned.

Wayne banged his head against the wall in frustration. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I'd like to remind you that you have a show. Tomorrow. For which you should, I don't know, _prepare._ It's not going to be me who looks stupid if you mess up on stage."

Richard blanched at that, and nodded. "Come on, let's get to work," he said. "We'll brainstorm more at dinner, okay?"

That seemed to calm everyone down a bit, and they got back to work.

It turned out to not be as easy as that. They finished the afternoon's rehearsal without any more major breakdowns, but coming up with a nickname for Alejandro was easier said than done.

"Uh… Kinda Spanish Dude?"

Alejandro didn't bother to grace them with a reply anymore. He had a text book open in front of him as he ate, and was highlighting something.

"Lord of the Dance?"

"The Latin Wonder?"

"Ooh la la." CJ made a kissy face at Nick, who ignored it.

"Um… You know, Alejandro, you could help us out, here."

"My name is Alejandro," he answered. "I still don't see why I should pretend it's anything else."

"You're a stubborn diva," Chris answered.

"Wow, the irony of that is beyond measure," Alejandro answered back, not looking up, and Chris wanted to ask what that was supposed to mean, but didn't want to sound stupid.

"Um, Bookworm?" Richard suggested.

"No."

"Now you're just being stubborn!" CJ declared. "Come on, that's the best thing we've got so far."

"If it's what people are going to be calling me, I'd like it to be something I _like,_" he answered.

"Why? Mine's not," CJ sulked.

"Yes, but _I_ like yours," Nick answered, and not very subtly ran a hand up CJ's thigh.

"Ught, keep it in the bedroom, would you?" Chris snapped.

"You're just mad 'cause no one likes you," Nick answered, sticking out his tongue.

"Now, now," Alejandro sighed, and closed his book. "I thought we were all supposed to get along."

"Wow, that was a dumb assumption," Chris said.

"You're right," he agreed. "I should have known that no one would ever be able to get along with you."

"Hey!" Chris yelled. "Everyone likes me, you son of a…" Everyone was staring at him. He cleared his throat. "Bum," he finished lamely.

"Son of a bum?" Richard repeated. "Nice catch there, Chris."

"Shut up."

Richard kicked him under the table, but aloud repeated, "Bum… Son of a bum. It's kind of fun to say."

"You're not calling me Son of a Bum. First off, neither of my parents is a—"

"I know, but… Why are you so difficult?"

"Bum," CJ said, and began singing to himself, "Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum—"

"Stop that!"

"Bum's not a very nice name, though, is it?" Nick put in. "I mean, he's nice."

"Well…" Richard shrugged. "To make something cute, you make it, uh… Little? Like a baby animal?"

"Little Baby Animal Bum? That's just… _wrong,"_ Chris said.

"For once, I agree," Alejandro answered.

"But come on. Bum… Little Bum… Tiny Bum… Baby Bum… Bum Cub… Uh… Bum-let…"

"Bumlet?" Alejandro asked.

"Well… yeah? Like a owlet, or something."

"This has just gotten very weird," Alejandro answered. "And I'm not a bum."

"Aww, but it's kind of cute," Nick said. "Bumlet. Like a cute little ragamuffin."

"Ragamuffin? Great. _Thanks."_

"Bumlets," Chris mused. "I think it works."

"Where did the 'S' come from?" Alejandro demanded.

Chris shrugged. "It just sounded good."

"You really think so?"

"I guess. I haven't heard anything better…"

Alejandro shrugged. "I guess."

Everyone kind of stared at him. "For serious?" CJ repeated. "After all of that, you agree to _Bumlets?_ I mean, come on. Bookworm was, like, ten times better."

Alejandro merely shrugged. "It works as well as anything. And it doesn't sound so… American."

"Because it's gibberish."

"Well, I _like_ it."

"Then it's settled!" Richard declared, trying to end the conversation. "Specs, Dutchy, Mush, Swifty and… Bumlets. The V-Tones."

"Coming to Nickelodeon tomorrow," Chris added.

"Oh, God. I feel ill."

"Come on, the nickname isn't so bad," Alejandro answered, smiling a little.

"I'm gonna _puke…"_

"Sir Pukes-a-Lot," CJ mumbled to Nick, who grinned.

"I'm serious, and I just ate…"

"You'll be fine. This happens, like, six times a day."

"Twice! Tops!"

"Tell that to the poor trashcan."

"…and the toilet."

"I hate you all," Richard sulked.

"Welcome to _my_ world," Chris answered.

"Only 'cause we all hate you," Nick said cheerfully.

"Yeah, I know."

"I don't hate you, Chris," Alejandro said quietly, but opened his book and stared down at it in concentration before anyone could answer.

* * *

**AN: FYI, Wayne is not actually a newsie. He's just sketchy. (All of the canon characters will be identified as such, so… yeah.)**


	7. Seven

_Seven_.

"I don't think I can do this," Richard mumbled to himself, over and over again. One of the others would probably have stopped to reassure him, but they were all too busy having minor freak-outs themselves. As confident as they were, standing backstage and waiting to be introduced was even more nerve-wracking than any of the lead-up press had been.

CJ was bouncing up and down in a corner, harassing the stage manager. "Oh my god! Oh my god! _How_ many people are out there? Seven thousand? Ten thousand? Oh my god! … How about now? How many people now?"

This was doing nothing to calm Richard down.

Then there was Alejandro. He was holding some sort of rag that he kept twisting between his hands and folding over on itself, every move betraying nervous energy. But at least he wasn't making any noise.

…Unlike Nick, who had cracked his knuckles and his back at least ten times in the last minute.

And finally, there was Chris, who was, if that were possible, being even more annoying than CJ. He kept examining himself in the mirror, and would grab the nearest person to ask, "How do I look? Is my hair all right? No, really, does it make me look goofy? I don't look too young, do I? Is this shirt too tight? I think I can move in it, but it's still pretty tight. Do these pants make my butt look big? Last thing I want is to be back on TV and have my butt looking big, right? Are you _sure_ my hair's okay?"

Between Chris and CJ, the stage manager looked ready to have a nervous breakdown.

Richard, meanwhile, was sitting on a chair with his head between his knees, trying to breathe, but only managing pathetic little moans. They'd warmed up and he'd spent close to a half hour on the phone with Sherman, who had calmed him down, but now that it was almost time to go onstage, he was feeling sick again.

He'd managed to pull his head up and was hesitantly starting to say, "Um, guys? I don't think I can d—" when he was interrupted by a crackle from the stage manager's headset.

"Okay, guys," the stage manager called to the five nervous boys, "you're on!"

And then it was too late to back out of it. Alejandro jumped to his feet, and he, CJ and Nick started for the door. Chris stared at himself in the mirror for another moment, nodded in satisfaction, flashed a grin at himself, and turned away. He saw Richard was still sitting, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and grabbed his arm.

"Come on, Anxiety Boy, they're waiting."

"I'm gonna puke."

"Just do it before the lights go up and try not to slip in it later."

"Chris!"

"You can hear them screaming already, okay? No one is going to boo you, no one is going to hate you, except for me, if you don't get your lousy butt on stage. You'll be _fine."_

Richard whimpered slightly, but let Chris drag him down the hall and towards the backstage. The lights were down and the path was lit by glow tape, and up ahead he heard CJ walk into someone.

"Ow!"

"Sorry!"

"How many people are—"

"CJ! Just! Walk!"

They reached the stage entrance, and Chris paused and glanced at Richard in the dim light. "You gonna puke? Do it now."

Richard whimpered again, but when he didn't retch, Chris grabbed him and hauled him out on to the stage. Their starting marks were on the floor and Chris could see how scared Richard was as he got ready, but the next thing they knew the first chord struck and the lights began flashing in a bright, multi-colored pattern. They'd only rehearsed on stage twice before and it felt alien and like sensory overload, but then the lights came up completely two beats before the first verse and the first move of the dance.

Chris had the first line and he hit it, and spared a glance over at Richard, who had begun to fall into the dance. He continued through the verse, making sure he didn't fall now that there were people watching them, and after the chorus it was Richard's turn to solo—and Richard was jumping into the dance with enthusiasm, and came in to the part with confidence.

It was all going to be okay.

The rest of the concert was something of a blur, and the set was only half an hour long. It felt like only minutes when they went into the big finale of _Rippin' Out My Heart,_ and when the lights went down for the last time, they nearly skipped off the stage.

"Oh my god! Oh my god! We were amazing! Did you see how good we were? We rocked! Oh my god!"

"CJ, quiet, your mike is still on…" the stage manager answered, sounding pained.

"Well, turn it off!"

"It's off, and, you're clear. Good show, guys!"

The backstage lights came up, and they were ushered into the green room, and it finally _hit_ them what had just happened.

"Guys?" Nick asked. "Was that _real?_ Did we just do that?"

"We were amazing!"

"We were—"

"Excuse me for a moment," Richard interrupted, and ran for the bathroom. The door slammed shut, and they could hear the sound of him puking through it.

"Well, at least he held it in," CJ commented, and rested his head against Nick's shoulder for a moment—but then sprang back up and began jumping again. "We so ruled!"

Chris glanced at himself in the mirror and nodded. "I looked good."

"We _all_ looked good," Nick answered.

"Well, yes." Chris shrugged. "I still think that these pants—"

"Shut up about the pants already!"

Chris glanced over at Alejandro, who was sagging against the wall, looking tired. The concert took a lot out of all of them, and required a lot of energy, but Alejandro looked dazed and was just taking slow sips out of a water bottle. Chris managed to catch his eye, and he smiled.

Chris smiled back. "Not bad for a first show, Bumlets."

"Your butt looks fine," Alejandro answered.

Richard finally came back out of the bathroom. "Well, that was… pretty good. Yeah. Good."

"You feeling okay?"

"I do _now."_

"Are you going to do that after every show?"

"Maybe."

"Look," Chris said. "You were really good, okay? They were all screaming for you. Well, and me. But they loved you, they loved _us,_ and they're still screaming out there—we're gonna get such good press from this, you won't even believe it."

"Press, right. That makes me feel _better."_ Richard glowered at him, and Chris shrugged.

"Well, I tried. It's not my fault you've got some sort of weirdo anxiety—"

The door to the room burst open, and Ms. Alcott and Weisel hurried in. "Boys, that was—"

"Richard, darling, you were amazing! I've never seen you perform like that, you're not usually _nearly_ so good!"

"Gee, Mom. Thanks."

"Oh, you know what I mean, sweetheart. You did such a good job!"

Weisel cleared his throat. "Well, boys, that _was_ very good. You've done a great job today, but the hard work is just beginning. We've got an audience now, and it'll just get bigger and bigger, but they want more V-Tones. They want photos and interviews and concerts, and they need an _album._ We'll be starting the recording process tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" CJ asked. "We can't sleep in?"

"Sleep in? You're hilarious, kid. We're going to try and get the album done within two weeks—it'll be long days of recording, and you'll need to learn the new songs and the new choreography, Wayne's already agreed to stay on to work on it."

"Great," Chris muttered, but no one heard him.

"And then we'll be starting a tour—it's not a big tour, just mall shows, but it'll really build up your audience. We're looking at maybe two months of that across the country, and we'll see where we stand."

"So that's two and a half months of no sleeping in?"

"Maybe if you're good I'll give you a day off."

"Mall tour?" Chris said. "You're kidding me, right?"

"It'll build up a fan base—"

"_Mall_ touring? I do not think so. We're too good to be performing in a _mall."_

"You're good, but no one's heard of you yet—"

"Then what was the point of today?" Chris demanded. "All the people who saw us? And gave us a standing ovation? And the press!"

"Yeah, that's all well and good, but that's still just this city, and you guys are gonna need to hit the whole country. And I _don't_ want to hear any complaints."

"Well, that's too bad for you, because I am _not_ doing a _mall tour."_

"Check your contract, Chris, yes you are."

Weisel glared at Chris. Chris glared at Weisel.

Alejandro cleared his throat. "It won't be _so_ bad," he said. "I mean… It's a small place to perform, and I'll bet our fans would, uh, really like such an intimate show… You know?"

"I don't _care, _I—"

"Alejandro's right," Nick said. "I mean, we can also do all the signings and in-stores, and those will win us fans for _life."_

"But it's a _mall tour!"_

"I'm with Chris on this," Richard put in. "I mean… It's good to meet our fans and all, but they're gonna know who we are. We're too good for that, get us a few spots on MTV and we'll have the same audience in half the time."

"You agree with Chris?" CJ asked, sounding amazed, but it was lost as Ms. Alcott began to speak.

"Now, dear, don't jump to conclusions. Of _course_ you're going to build up a fan base, but really, you need to interact with them first. Give it some time—trust me, darling, mommy knows best."

"Excuse me, I think _I_ need to throw up," Chris mumbled.

Richard snickered and Ms. Alcott glared at Chris, who shrugged. "I vote against it."

"Me too," Richard agreed.

"I'm for it," Nick said.

"Ditto," CJ said.

Everyone turned to stare at Alejandro, who looked uncomfortable. Finally, he cleared his throat, "Well… I mean, I don't think it would be so bad. _But,_ Chris and Richard know a lot more about these things than I do."

"Ha!" Chris yelled triumphantly. "That's three to two, and—"

"And this ain't a democratic process. You've got contracts, and I book your shows. You go where I say. Period. Now go home and get some rest, you start early tomorrow."

Weisel gave them one final glare, and then left the room. Ms. Alcott hesitated, then pinched Richard's cheek. "You were so good today, darling, don't worry. Mom will take care of _everything!"_

She swept out of the room, and Richard looked pained.

"See, now I know why you're so screwed up," CJ said. "You seriously lived with _that_?"

"Yeah, there's a reason I wanted to live with Dad when they got divorced." He made a face. "There's a reason they got divorced. Ught. Chris, you're so lucky your mom's not like that."

Chris shrugged, and glanced over at Alejandro, who was stretching out one of his legs. He'd leaned against the wall and had pulled it up almost all the way to his face, and Chris couldn't help but note that the guy was pretty flexible.

"I can't believe they want us to do a _mall tour,"_ he mumbled. "Come on, let's go deal with the reporters outside."

Richard nodded and the two of them led the way out, Chris sulking all the way.

* * *

The next two weeks were awful. The boys spent most of their time in the studio, learning the new songs and getting them recorded, and then evenings were spent with Wayne, dancing. Any time they had that wasn't spent recording, signing or dancing became a press event, and as the tour loomed closer, they spent more and more time talking with reporters.

"Tell us, Chris, what's it like to be the baby of the group?"

"Having four older brothers, are you kidding me?" he laughed. "It's great, except when they gang up on me!"

"We really are like brothers," Richard added, jumping in. "We goof off and play around like brothers, and we're really close—but of course we fight like brothers, too."

"No kidding," CJ said. "It's _your_ turn to do the dishes tonight!"

"Is _not."_

The reporters laughed politely at the staged antics.

"Since you guys are getting pretty popular now, what do you have to say to your fans?"

"Thanks for the support, guys!" Chris shot the camera a thumbs up. "It really means a lot to us, and we love being able to touch people through our music. It's a passion, really."

"So what do you think you'll do when this whole band craze is over?"

"Over?" Richard repeated, feigning offense. "We're just getting started!"

"But what if it doesn't work out?"

"Well," Alejandro said, speaking up for the first time, "we really think we're going places—we love it too much to let a few hard days stop us. We've worked too hard to give up, right guys?"

There was a chorus of gleeful agreements, and Nick commented, "Bumlets is going to college, though—he's smart." He laughed. "He got, like, a perfect score on the SATs, did you know that?"

"Is that true?" the reporter asked.

"Well… I mean, not the first time I took them… But you know, if you study hard and put your mind to it, you can do anything."

"That's quite inspiring," the reporter said, and Chris responded quickly by throwing an arm around Alejandro.

"He's an inspiring guy to have around—we still have to take classes and tests and do homework and _everything,_ even when we're busy, and he really helps us. I know I'd never understand algebra if it wasn't for him!"

Alejandro possibly turned a little pink at that, but no one seemed to notice.

"So, you're so popular now, and fan clubs are springing up all around the country—any special fans you want to thank?"

"Well, yes, actually." Chris laughed and tucked his hair behind his ears.

"I'd like to thank my mom," Richard said sweetly. "She's always been my biggest fan—she's always encouraged me to do my best."

His fingers were crossed under the table.

"I really want to thank a sweet little girl who I _know_ is my biggest fan," Chris added. "Her name is Rosalia, and she makes _awesome_ cookies."

Alejandro laughed a little, and didn't say anything. Not until a few hours later, when they were all winding down in their half an hour of free time before bed.

"It was really nice of you to mention Rosalia," he said quietly.

Chris shrugged. "Well, I'll do almost anything for cookies," he answered.

"You realize you made her whole life, right?"

"Hey, she's a nice girl." He glanced at Alejandro. "Kinda like her older brother, right? You're getting to be really good in interviews, you know. All that genius stuff—the girls love it." He laughed, chucked Alejandro on the arm, and walked off towards his bedroom.

"Girls," Alejandro sighed after him. "Right."

* * *

The album was released the day before Chris's sixteenth birthday, and went gold—and then platinum—_on_ his birthday. "That's one hell of a birthday present," Richard commented.

"I'm so tired," Chris answered. "I just want to _sleep_ for my birthday. Can't I sleep?"

"No can do, kid," CJ answered, mimicking Weisel. "You gotta work, work, work in this biz. Ain't that right, Virginia?"

"Why, _yes,_ darlings. Don't you worry, though, Mommy's going to make sure everything goes perfectly!" Nick answered, pitching his voice up to mock Ms. Alcott.

"Please don't ever do that again," Richard said.

"Don't make me _laugh,"_ Chris whined. "I'm too tired to laugh. And too _sore…"_

"Chris, we've only been touring for two weeks," Richard sighed. "We've got a month and a half left…"

"I can't believe we're doing a _mall tour,"_ Chris mumbled.

"Rosalia baked you cookies for your birthday, Chris," Alejandro piped up. "She wanted to make a cake, but that doesn't survive as well in the mail."

Chris brightened up a little at that. "Cookies?"

"Can you actually move to get them? They're in my room."

"Aw, _man,_ that's all the way down the hall!" Chris pouted. "It's my birthday, come on. Can't you go get them for me?"

Alejandro glanced over at everyone else, then sighed. "You want a piggy back, your majesty?"

_"Yes."_

There was a pause, and Alejandro nodded. "Only because it's your birthday. _Loser."_

"Ha! I win!"

"Well, if you don't behave, I'll drop you. Down the stairs."

"What, on my birthday?"

"No, I'll wait for tomorrow. See, it could be worse, you could be in the emergency room instead of a hotel, right?"

"And Weisel would _still_ make you perform tomorrow," Nick added. "On crutches. So behave."

"Why is everyone mean on my _birthday?"_

"Chris, for real, shut up."

"Well, come on," Alejandro sighed, and crouched down next to Chris's bed. "If you're seriously going to make me carry you…"

"I so am. Ha!" He pulled himself out of bed and actually did wrap his legs around Alejandro's torso, and his arms around Alejandro's neck, and Alejandro groaned as he stood up. "Mush, doggy! Mush!"

"I swear to god, I'll dump you on your butt."

But Alejandro half-smiled as he carried Chris, laughing hysterically, out of the room. The rest of the boys followed, and getting his key out of his pocket proved a bit difficult with Chris on his back, but Alejandro managed, and handed it to Richard to open the door with.

Richard flipped the lights on, and Chris was greeted with a large banner reading _Happy Birthday!_ in large letters, a cake on the middle of a table, surrounded by cookies and a small stack of presents.

"Aw, for me? For reals?"

"Get off me," Alejandro answered, and unceremoniously dumped Chris on the floor. But Chris scrambled up to his feet and inspected the cake. "That's awesome! Presents!"

"See, this is why we always call you the baby," Nick answered. "And now you're at your sweet sixteen. _Awwww."_

"Oh, shut up. You're not that much older."

"I'm _enough_ older."

"No fighting!" CJ yelped. "Presents!"

"Presents!" Chris agreed.

"Mine first!" CJ added, and thrust one of the wrapped boxes at Chris.

Chris tore into it eagerly, and was a little surprised to find a gag inside. "Uh… Creepy," he answered.

"Oh, come on. It's not to be kinky, it's to shut you up," CJ answered. "It's a gag gift! Get it? Huh? Anyone?"

"CJ, that's terrible," Nick answered.

"You're just mad I didn't get one for you."

Nick raised an eyebrow, and no one asked. "Here's mine," Nick said, and handed one to Chris, who unwrapped it, to reveal a remote control car. "We can't afford the real thing… _yet._ But you are sixteen."

"Hey! I can drive! I hadn't even thought of that!"

"Thanks, Nick." Richard sighed. "I was hoping no one would remind him of that. Now someone will have to_ teach_ him to drive." He paused. "You know, I'll bet my mom would be _happy_ to!"

"Oh, god, no. I'll stick with the remote control car, thanks." But Chris was laughing.

"Here, that one's mine," Richard said, pointing at a small, flat present. Chris unwrapped it a little more suspiciously, but broke into a grin when he saw what was inside: an old magazine cover, framed, with the _Game On!_ cast on the front, himself somewhere around age thirteen in the middle. _Chris Ivers: America's Sweetheart, Inside!_ the text read.

Chris stared up at him. "Thanks, man. I…"

"Yeah, well, eBay." Richard shrugged. "But I figured you'd appreciate a picture of yourself."

"You make me sound arrogant."

Richard coughed.

There was one present left on the table, and Chris glanced over Alejandro. "It's going to be a book, isn't it?"

"What makes you think that?"

"It's _you."_

Alejandro shrugged, and Chris opened the present, to reveal a large, hardcover math textbook. He rolled his eyes. _"Thanks,_ Alex. Really. It means a lot."

"I got you a calculator, too."

"You are the lamest friend I've ever had."

"Aww, gee, thanks."

Chris coughed. "Where's my real present?"

"You think that's a joke?"

Chris stared at him, and Alejandro grinned.

"You don't give _text books_ for _birthday presents!"_

"How about clothes?"

"Alejandro—"

But Alejandro had walked over to his suitcase—they were only at the hotel overnight, there was no point in unpacking—and produced a small, squishy present. Chris glanced at him, looking nervous, and unwrapped it, to reveal a pastel pink girl's t-shirt.

He held it up and read the text, in baby blue: _I did Chris Ivers._

On the back, it said, _Twice._

"This is a real shirt? Seriously?"

"Yup. I picked it up at the mall we were at yesterday—they were selling them in Claire's."

"Oh my god! That's awesome!" Chris tossed the shirt aside and half jumped on Alejandro, hugging him.

"I guess they only had them for Chris, huh?" CJ asked.

"Sorry." Alejandro shrugged, blushing. "But he's the famous one."

"Aw, flatterer," Chris answered, laughing. "Guys, they're selling our stuff in Claire's! Cheap merchandise with our faces on it! Do you know what that means?"

"We're not making nearly as much of the licensing as we should?" Alejandro suggested.

"It means we're famous!"

"Or that."

"Oh, man, this is the best birthday present. Seriously. The best _birthday._ I love you guys."

"If you expect a group hug—" Richard started, but Nick and CJ had already pulled him over to Chris and shoved them at each other, and the next thing anyone knew, the five of them were embracing, jumping up and down with excitement, and laughing.

* * *

"It's like a boyband battle to the death," CJ said.

"Oh, come on. You're the only one of us who actually plays sports," Richard pointed out. "I mean… Chris and I have only played them on TV."

"And I don't think they'll let us use cut away shots to set anything up," Chris mumbled. "I _hate_ sports."

"Look," Alejandro sighed. "Weisel says we have to do publicity with the Uptown Boyz to get the press to stop showing us as rivals."

"We _are_ rivals."

"That's not the point."

"And, you know, us playing _against_ them in a basketball game is going to help us _not_ be rivals!" Chris added.

"Look, it won't be so bad. They could be really good guys—we've never even met them," Alejandro tried. "And it's just a game for _fun. _No one cares if we win or lose."

"I care!" Chris yelled. "I hate losing!"

"No, really?" Nick mumbled.

"You be quiet. You're just depressed because CJ's dating a girl."

"Don't remind me!"

CJ shrugged. "Look, Weisel said we were looking a little too cozy, I had to do _something_ to throw them off the scent. I didn't think I'd actually _like_ her."

"You… you _hussy!"_ Nick pouted. But he shrugged; everyone knew that he and CJ had liked each other and enjoyed hooking up, but it hadn't been _serious._ Neither one was heartbroken, and even though Nick sulked when it was just the group around, he was genuinely happy for CJ. If a little lonely.

Chris glanced down at the publicity pamphlet, showing all ten members of the two bands, wearing different colored uniforms. He was so used to seeing pictures of himself and the other four members of the V-Tones in silly costumes that he didn't even look at them, other than a quick check to make sure he'd photographed all right, and he glanced down at the Uptown Boyz.

"These guys don't look so tough," he said hesitantly. Which wasn't true—while the two bands had a lot in common, and people joked about how the V-Tones were really just Uptown Boyz clones, overall the Uptown Boyz were slightly older and slightly larger. (Well, except for Sean Conlon and Tony Higgins; they were both pretty small. But the other three—Ryan and Jack and Jeremy—they were all pretty intimidating looking.)

"We're gonna get squished, aren't we?" Richard asked.

"Come on, Rich, it won't be so bad," CJ said. "I mean, I have a jump shot that's pretty good. And Nick's buff. I hear they're all totally gay, as soon as he takes his shirt off, they'll swoon."

"Yeah, great strategy."

Nick shrugged. "I'd be willing to give it a try. Take one for the team, you know."

"How generous of you. The rest of us, however… Squish city. Unless this is something _else_ Alejandro's magically good at."

They all turned to look at him in unison, and he shook his head no. "Math. Science. Not sports."

"Damn it," Richard sighed. "All right, well… uh… CJ, we'll try and give you the ball and everyone else try to, um… give him the ball."

"Yeah, great strategy, Rich."

"You have anything better?"

There was a long silence.

"Ready to pretend to be a good loser, Chris?"

"Bite me."

"Well, let's go and shake their hands and pretend to get along," Richard said, and they started to the MTV studio that had been temporarily converted to a basketball court. There were legions of screaming teenage girls around, but that was pretty much standard by now—two-thirds of the way through their mall tour, with big things (which Weisel refused to elaborate on) on the horizon.

For once, the fans were not particularly welcome, as none of the boys really wanted anyone to see what seemed like an impending crushing defeat—though they were all in peak shape from performing every day, they weren't exactly athletes.

They met the Uptown Boyz in a greenroom, down the hall from the studio.

"Hey," Richard said, stepping forward, and pulling Chris with him.

"Hey," one of the Uptown Boyz—Jack Kelly, the one who always wore his signature cowboy hat—answered, pulling another band member up behind him.

"So, uh…" Richard looked around desperately for backup. "Um, I'm Rich Greensmith, and this is Chris, and—"

"So I've read," the guy who followed Jack said. "We know who you are."

"Well, good then, no point in introductions. So, uh, we're really looking forward to playing a nice, friendly game of—"

"No, see, we play to _win."_

"Sean, be quiet," Jack hissed. "Look, we think this whole rivalry thing is pretty stupid anyway."

"Yeah, us too."

"Well, of course _you_ would. We're the originals. We came _first._ It's our fans you're stealing."

Nick coughed conspicuously. "Right, there have never been _any_ boybands before in the history of the world. I mean, I've never heard of the New Kids on the Block or the Jackson Five or _anything."_ He shrugged.

The Uptown Boyz collectively glared at him, but after a second of looking pretty angry, one of them broke into a grin. "Oh, come on, guys, that was _funny._ Hi, I'm Ryan, nice to meet you… Nick, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Uh…. Nice eye-patch."

"Nice muscle shirt."

Nick blushed and CJ cracked up, and no one commented.

"So I guess we'd better get this thing started with," Jack finally said. "Good luck—may the better band win."

"Oh, we will," Chris answered automatically, and Richard kicked him as soon as Jack's back was turned. Chris glanced over at Nick as they started walking, and saw he was not very subtly staring after Ryan, smiling.

"No fraternizing with the enemy," he hissed.

"Oh, chill out," Nick answered. "He seemed nice enough."

"Ha!"

"You're a very screwed up guy, Chris, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Save the trash talk for the game."

Nick glanced over at Alejandro and CJ. "He knows we're going to lose, right?"

"Shut up! I can still hear you!"

"I'd say he knows, yes."

"Shut up!"

"Should I tell him those pants make his butt look gigantic?" CJ whispered.

"What? They what? Guys!"

Everyone else was laughing so hard that by the time they got onto the studio-turned-court, they were in a good mood again, despite the impending crushing defeat.

The first half of the game didn't go as badly as it _could_ have—Richard's "give the ball to CJ" strategy worked fairly well, and CJ's "let them stare at Nick in his t-shirt" idea seemed to work surprisingly well on Ryan, who kept 'accidentally' letting Nick have the ball. Of course, that was countered by Chris's attempts to actually play; he had a bad habit of traveling, and got more and more angry the more times he got caught on it.

Of course, he just kept smiling his plastered-on smile, because there were fans watching.

By the time the half ended, the Uptown Boyz were leading, but only by seven points. They took five minutes for a break to get water, while a group of fans came out as cheerleaders, and applauded politely as they hissed things back and forth.

"Chris! Stop getting the ball! You suck!"

"I do not! That last call was _totally_ unfair—"

"You ran halfway across the floor without dribbling, that's illegal, and anyway, you suck, so stop. Just stop."

"Way to be encouraging, CJ. Richard—"

"Hey, don't look at me. I was tying my shoe, how was I supposed to see he was about to shoot?"

"You could have waited for a timeout to tie your shoe!"

"I would have tripped! And broken my leg! And then how would we perform?"

"Guys…" Alejandro sighed. "This game is just for fun, come on. Calm down."

"Yeah, real fun," Chris mumbled.

"Okay!" the referee called, as the cheerleaders all skipped off. "It's the Uptown Boyz up by seven, let's see if the V-Tones can stage a comeback!"

"Hey," Richard said to Chris. "You're good at those."

Chris snorted, and they took their places around the court to resume play.

The second half went a _little_ better—Alejandro gave up on being so polite, and got called for fouling the other team three times, but also scored several times. CJ continued to do well, as he actually seemed to know how to play, and Nick didn't do too badly. Chris remained near useless, however, and Richard wasn't too much better. At least Richard didn't insist on trying to score and making things worse.

But ultimately, it wasn't enough. The Uptown Boyz apparently had actually practiced beforehand, and were overall larger and meaner. The final score was 55-66, in favor of the Uptown Boyz. But the V-Tones had practice at smiling for the cameras, and even Chris looked like a good sport until they were well off-camera.

"I hate, hate _hate_ losing!"

"That's nice, Chris."

"Hey, he's grown up; he didn't actually throw a temper tantrum," Richard pointed out. "No crying, either."

"I'm not a baby, despite what you all seem to think. And I don't _cry!"_

"Well, look, the game wasn't a total loss," Nick said. "I mean, we lost, but it was good press, and it could have been worse… And we know the Uptown Boyz now, they're not such bad guys."

"You're just saying that because you thought Ryan was cute."

"Ryan _was_ cute, but that's not the point," Nick answered.

"They were jerks," Alejandro said, and that was the meanest his language ever got.

"Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'," Chris agreed. "Real jerks. Just 'cause they won. _I_ could play basketball if I wanted. If I wasn't in a band."

The rest of the group exchanged amused looks, but no one bothered to say anything. It was just too easy.


	8. Eight

_Eight._

Getting back to the house at the end of the tour was something of a relief. The boys were being allowed three days to chill out either there or at home, with their families, before work started again—the longest break they'd had. And they definitely needed it. Even CJ barely had the energy left to bounce.

Alejandro quickly decided to spend his three days off with his family, and said good-bye to the other four guys with barely-disguised relief. None of them took any offense. They all got along fairly well most of the time these days, but they were all at least a _little_ sick of each other by now.

Richard also took off, but only for a day. He did want to visit his father and spend at least a bit of time catching up with Sherman, but he was perfectly happy to avoid his mother and lurk at the group house.

The others basically agreed with him, and visited home, but came back to the house to relax—after all, the house had a game room, a pool, and a basketball court. (Though Chris, now allowed to play, was too bitter to want to do so.) Weisel was running things out of the house office, which put a damper on their fun, but it was clear from the amount of time he spent on the phone and faxing information around that he had something pretty big in the works—which he promised to tell them about as soon as vacation ended.

However, even with the game room and the pool, the boys all had the same favorite pastime: sleeping. The two months of touring had been grueling, and they were all exhausted, and trying to take as much advantage of the break as possible. They knew it was right back to work as soon as it ended, and they'd probably be on another tour (_not_ a mall tour this time, Chris insisted), and sleep was a precious commodity on the tour bus.

But on the last evening of the break, knowing they'd be working at _something_ the next day, Alejandro returned to the house and they all gathered around to hear Weisel make his announcement.

"First off, I'd like to congratulate you boys—Mister Pulitzer is very pleased with the results of the mall tour."

"Does this mean we're being promoted to a _real_ tour now?" Chris muttered.

"Chris, hush," Ms. Alcott put in, striding into the room to join them. Richard groaned slightly.

"I'm glad you brought that up—in fact, you have. A real tour, although a short one, complete with your own opening act."

"Big time," Chris answered, sounding much more pleasant now.

"Who's opening for us?" Nick asked.

"Well," Weisel said, "pending a few contract arrangements, we have a _very_ interesting proposition in front of us. You see, we've been talking with Face Forward—the talent scout agency that put together—"

"That put together _Game On,_ so?" Chris interrupted.

"Exactly." He let it hang in the air. "You see, there's been talk of syndicating the show, and the first season will be on DVD soon—I'm sure your agent and lawyers have informed you of that."

"Yeah…"

"Face Forward would like to promote the DVD with a short reunion tour—the original cast, from season one."

"Whoa," Richard said, kicking Chris as he opened his mouth. "What do you mean? Chris was in the original cast—Chris is in our group. He can't do both, he'd die."

"Yeah," Chris said.

"Are you sure of that? Because we've contacted the other members of the season one cast, and they'd all _love_ to get together again."

"Well, they _would_," Richard said. "I mean, none of them have careers at this point—Chris does. They're trying to leech off him."

"Worked pretty well for you," Chris commented.

"Yes, and now that it's working, I'd like it to _keep_ working. Which it won't, if Chris dies."

"I wouldn't _die,"_ Chris snapped.

"Are you actually considering this?" Nick asked. "I mean—seriously. You'd be doing two shows a day—"

"And learning the dances for them," CJ added innocently.

"Yeah, but the publicity," Chris said. "I mean, seriously, I mean—dances?"

"Well, _we'd_ be dancing. I mean, boybands pretty much have to," CJ explained. "Except on ballads, which suck anyway. But I assume that they'd be using dances too, since half of the show _was_ dancing."

"Well, yeah, but… I mean, I could probably—"

"And Chris, you'd be an _opener,"_ Richard added.

"Shut up," he shot back.

"You'd have twice as many rehearsals, which would mean no sleep," Alejandro added.

"Why are you guys so against this!" Chris demanded. "I mean, I'm the one who'd be doing all the work!"

"Because if you fall asleep on stage in the middle of the performance, that wouldn't look so good for us," Richard answered. "And besides, you've got us now. We're going places. Why bother with them?"

Chris shrugged, sulky.

"Look, boys," Weisel said. "Nothing is definite yet—but the cast members are going to be in town tonight for a dinner meeting. Why don't you meet with them, Chris? Talk it over?"

"Uh… Okay," he agreed.

"And either way, you'll be starting the new choreography with Wayne in the morning."

"Great." Chris rolled his eyes.

"Well, that's that, then," Weisel declared. "Chris, your meeting is at seven, at the Garden downtown. Dress formal."

"Uh… can someone give me a ride?"

Alejandro coughed. "I will."

"Thanks." Chris grinned over at him. "You should come meet the cast, I totally forgot you used to watch us!"

"Uh…" Alejandro shrugged. "Sure. I guess."

Chris grinned at him. "They're great, Alex. You'll see."

* * *

Alex had been immediately invited to join the cast reunion dinner, as he was wearing a tie and a jacket anyway, and now he was seated with Chris and the other six original cast members. He hadn't needed to be introduced—he knew them from the show, and they knew him as a member of the V-Tones.

Alejandro was getting along with them pretty well, being his usual, quiet self; but Chris wasn't doing _nearly_ so well. He had remembered his first season on the show as almost a utopia, and how close the cast had been, and how much fun they'd had—and meeting everyone years after they'd left the show, he was wondering why.

It had started out fine, everyone shaking hands and hugging and greeting each other warmly. They hadn't really kept in touch, which had been fine with Chris, since he hadn't needed them—there had been other cast members to be close with when they left. And he _had_ stayed friends with Daren, who had been the closest one to his age—but what puberty had done for Chris, it hadn't for Daren, who was now something of a hulking beast. The girls, on the other hand, all looked like copies of Shawna Rivers, complete with dyed blond hair and gobs of makeup. And none of them, nor the other two boys, seemed really comfortable with Chris. Which he sort of understood, since he had gone on to have an actual _career,_ but at the same time it was surprising. They'd been his closest friends and by far the best cast the show had had.

And it was just _awkward._ Especially because they seemed so old now—Sarah and Jake especially, now in their mid-twenties, as they'd been the oldest cast members at the time.

"So," Caleb, the other boy, commented as he cut into a large slab of steak, "you've done pretty well for yourself, Chris."

"Yeah, well, I mean, we all have—we've worked really hard. And the other guys are so—"

"Chris, we're not reporters," Elisa put in, tossing her pony-tail over her shoulder. "Stop simpering."

He shrugged. "Sorry. Bad habit."

"I can't get over how grown up you look!" Sarah cooed. "You're like a real adult!"

Chris stared at her, and Alejandro snickered, but turned it into a cough, and reached for his water.

"Seriously," Jake added. "You were such a _kid_ when we knew you. You were, like, six."

"I was _nine."_

"That's still tiny."

"Chris, sweetie, you've got some…" Sarah gestured at her cheek, then reached for a napkin and Chris's face. He ducked.

"Sarah!"

"What?" she asked.

"I'm _not_ a _baby,_ I can take care of my own _face."_

There was a very brief pause, and then a round of laughter, and Chris gave them all an indignant glare. Even Alejandro was smirking down at his plate.

"What? I'm sixteen! I'm not a kid!"

"Chris, sweetie, stop shouting."

"Stop calling me sweetie!"

"Look," Jake interrupted. "She didn't mean anything by it, it's just weird. You were like our baby brother, just this cute little kid who followed us around—"

Chris was pretty sure he heard Alejandro make a noise that sounded suspiciously like _awww_, but it was hard to say, as Alejandro was busily wiping his face with his napkin.

"—and it was cute, but you were so _young._ And… Loud. And hyper."

"Look, I did a _lot_ for a little kid, so I don't know what you're complaining about."

"We're not complaining," the third girl, Tanya, put in. "We're impressed. You're, like, the leader of a boyband—no offense, Alex."

"None taken," he answered amiably.

Chris sighed. "Well, whatever. I'm _not_ a kid anymore."

"No kidding." Sarah glanced over at Alejandro. "He's real mature now?"

"Oh, very." Alejandro nodded seriously, keeping a straight face, and Chris looked slightly relieved. "He's the hardest working guy I know."

"So what _would_ you think of a reunion?" Daren asked.

"I dunno," Chris answered. "I mean, I'd love to get to work with you guys again, you were the best cast the show ever had, but it's not really up to me—and apparently, there are some people who think I couldn't _handle_ two shows at once."

"Well, you'll show them," Tanya noted. "I mean, if this goes through."

"But it _would _be pretty hard," Chris continued. "To learn everything for two whole shows—I don't think I'd ever get to sleep."

"You know, I don't remember you ever actually sleeping," Jake noted. "I'm pretty sure you used to wake up those of us who were trying to nap on the set."

"Again, I was _nine."_

"You were such a cute kid," Sarah continued. "Do you remember the time we needed a break from babysitting you—we said we were playing hide and seek, and let you hide for three hours?"

"Yes. Actually, I _do_ remember that." Chris glowered. "I was _nine."_

"Or the time Jake wanted some time alone and locked you in his dressing room? You idolized him."

"Luckily, I got over that."

Jake laughed. "Okay, I deserved that," he agreed. "But it was funny at the time." He coughed. "Except when you started crying, I mean, that wasn't funny." He shot a look at the others, who all looked like maybe it _had_ been a little funny, and Chris turned to his meal, clearly actively ignoring them.

Alejandro shrugged. "Well, you guys all looked really close on the show," he said. "I mean, if I remember right."

Chris glanced over at him and smiled. He had a sneaking suspicion that Alejandro had the show on tape.

"Well, we were pretty fond of him," Sarah said. "Most of the time."

Chris forced a smile on to his face. "Yeah," he said. "Ditto."

* * *

"Okay," Chris said, as they climbed out of the car. "I never want to see them again in my life. _Ever."_

"They weren't that bad," Alejandro said. "I mean, they did seem to like you."

"They acted like I'm still nine!"

"To be fair, I'm sure I'll still treat Rosalia like a nine year old when she's sixteen."

"That's different. She's your sister."

"And after two months of this band, you're pretty much my brother—I'm guessing it's the same for them."

"Yeah, but…" Chris shrugged. "I'm not a little kid."

"I know," Alejandro said.

"And, uh… I guess, thanks for telling them that stuff. About me being hard working and all."

"Well, you are."

"Yeah, but I know I'm still… You guys treat me like a baby sometimes, too."

"Well, you _are_ the youngest."

"But you didn't act like that around them, you acted like I was… Mature, or something. So… Thanks."

Alejandro smiled. "No problem. I mean, hey—you were nice to Rosalia back when you still pretty much hated _me,_ so it only seemed fair."

"I didn't hate you," Chris answered quickly. "But anyway, I never, ever want to work with them again. Ever. Rich was right, it's not worth it."

Alejandro nodded, and they started to head off to their bedrooms, but Weisel was waiting in the kitchen, not having left for the night yet. "Chris! How'd it go? Everything peachy?"

"Not… Not really," he said. "I don't think it _is_ a good idea—I'd rather not do two shows at once."

"Well, that's a shame. It's a little too late, all the agents and contracts came through. The _Game On!_ rehearsals start in three days. Get some sleep, you'll need it."

Chris groaned, and watched as Weisel left the room, and waited to hear the front door shut.

"God _damn it! _Damn it damn it damn it!"

Alejandro sighed. "It won't be so bad."

"It will! It'll be awful! It'll be worse than—it'll—Not only do I have to learn _twice_ the choreography, with _Wayne,_ who I _hate,_ but I also have to work with _them,_ who I _hate,_ and I _hate_ learning choreography!"

The rest of the group had come in some time around the last damn it, and were silently watching Chris's temper tantrum. But for a change, no one really blamed him for it.

* * *

Chris was lying on the couch, barely awake, not even able to pay attention to the sitcom reruns that were on. He wanted to go to bed, but going to bed would have required moving, and he wasn't sure he was up to that. Moving took a _lot_ of energy.

It had been fifteen minutes since his second rehearsal of the day had ended, and he'd had just enough energy to pull himself from the studio to the living room, where he collapsed on the couch.

He had a dim awareness of people wandering in and out behind him somewhere, and by this point could tell who was who largely by just footsteps, and heard CJ and Nick bound off somewhere to go hang out. Richard stalked through the house to avoid his mother. The members of _Game_ _On!_ had finally left for the day.

More footsteps in the hallway leading to the living room. He perked up a tiny bit, recognizing Alejandro's light tread, but before he could work up the energy to mumble, "Hello," he heard another set of footsteps.

"Hey, Alex!"

And the _voice._ He hated the voice. And the footsteps. And the human being who created them, though at this point, Chris had trouble believing Wayne was actually a human, and not some sort of evil dancing space robot.

"Hey," Alejandro answered.

"Well, uh… I was about to head off."

"Oh. Have a nice evening."

"I was _just_ thinking…" He hesitated, and Chris was tempted to sit up and yell at him to go _away_ already, but sitting up would have taken energy, too. "Uh, I was thinking. Do you maybe want to go get a bite to eat or something?"

"Uh… Excuse me?"

Chris groaned, but quietly, and shut his eyes. He didn't want to overhear this.

"You know. Dinner… Like, outside the house? Or will your fans mob you?"

Alejandro laughed a little. "I doubt it. See, if it were Chris…"

Wayne laughed. "Poor kid, he's exhausted."

_Yes,_ Chris thought. _I am. Go away._

"Yeah… I was gonna ask if he wanted me to bring him a hot pack or dinner or anything, but I can't find him."

Chris almost sat up again, but his muscles ached, and the temptation to hear where this was going between Alejandro and Wayne was too great. He listened instead.

"That's really nice of you, but I think he was heading straight to bed."

"Oh. Uh, well…"

"So what do you say? Dinner?" Wayne laughed.

"Just like… you and me?"

"Well, yes, that was what I had in mind. Don't tell me I'm the first person to ask you out, Alex. You're famous now, you've got to have girls all over you."

"Not… Really… Uh."

"Well?" Wayne asked. "I'm sure you could use the chance to get away from everyone else for awhile."

"I really should check on Chris first—"

"He'll be okay. C'mon, it'll be fun. Let's get your coat."

"Well…" Alejandro cleared his throat. "Uh, okay, I guess. Dinner. Yeah, that sounds okay."

"Awesome." Wayne laughed, and the footsteps started again, both pairs going the other way.

Chris waited to hear the door shut behind them before groaning loudly into the couch cushion, then rolling over and sitting up. "Owwwww. I—owwwww." He collapsed back down onto the couch, wondering if it would be bratty to whine until someone carried him to his room. It wasn't like he weighed _that_ much.

Alejandro probably would have done it, he noted. But Alejandro was out. With _Wayne._ Chris really, really hated Wayne.

"Heyyyy, Chris!" Richard walked into the room and sat down in one of the chairs, and grabbed the remote. "Are you watching that?"

"Go 'head. Owwww."

"Thanks."

"Owwwwwww. Um, ow."

"Brat."

"I'm _not_ a brat and I do twice the work anyone else around here does!"

"So go to bed."

"I'm not sure I can get up…"

Richard glanced over at him, examining him over the top of his glasses. "You okay, Chris?"

"Do I _look_ okay?"

"You look whiny. Wait, that's always."

"I'm _not_ whining! I've just had a really long, really bad day and I'm tired and no one seems to care! Even Alejandro _left."_

"He did?"

"With _Wayne._ He even said he was going to check on me, but _Wayne_ didn't want him to. _Wayne_ didn't care. All _he_ wanted was to get in Alex's pants."

"Whoa, hey, back up. What?"

_"Wayne."_

"Yeah, got that. Wayne and Alex? Really?"

_"Yes."_

"Um, you sound a little pissed off about that," Richard noted.

"I _hate Wayne."_

"Uhh… Because you hate choreography?"

"Yes."

"So it doesn't bother you that he and Alex—"

"Of course it bothers me! Alex is, like, so innocent and Wayne's so _sketchy,_ and it didn't sound like Alex even wanted to go, but Wayne was all, 'come here, little boy, I have candy.'"

"And you're not taking that too personally, you don't think?"

"What are you, my shrink?"

Richard snorted. "Alejandro can take care of himself, I'm sure."

"I'm not sure. He's not used to _show biz people_. Like _Wayne._ Who, yeah, spends all of rehearsal staring at his ass, like that's not sketchy either. And no one bothered to tell Alex that that's all Wayne wants, and now you just watch, Alex is going to show up late tonight, traumatized and scared and upset, and—"

"You realize that Wayne isn't actually the Big Bad Wolf, right?"

"He might as well be!"

"Hoooo boy." Richard sat back, looking amused. "Chris, I think we need to have a little talk about what to do when you've got a crush on your bandmate. See, there's the Nick and CJ route—"

"I don't have a crush on anyone!"

"Uh huh."

"I'm just concerned for Alex's wellbeing. I'm a _concerned_ bandmate."

"Sure you are. So how long have you been…. Concerned? About Alejandro?"

"I don't have a crush on Alex!"

"No, no, I got that. You're concerned. Because he's on a date."

"Yes!"

"…With someone other than you."

"Shut up! With _Wayne!_ Do you not get that? Wayne!"

"No, uh, I got it." Richard shrugged. "I got it. You're concerned that Alejandro can't look out for himself when Big Bad Wayne is on the prowl. Poor, innocent little Alejandro, who's two and a half years _older_ than you are, you dope."

"Wayne is practically a pedophile."

"Alejandro is more mature than most adults I know," Richard answered.

"Well, yes, I know _that,_ but he's still not used to people like Wayne, who think that all you need to do to have sex is buy a guy a drink, and—"

"Did you ever think that maybe Wayne actually _likes_ Alejandro?"

"Ha!"

"Or maybe even that Alejandro likes _Wayne?_ I mean, he did say yes, didn't he?"

"Barely!"

Richard sighed. "Look, Chris. Alejandro went out with Wayne, and maybe Wayne _is_ sketchy, but Alex has a good head on his shoulders, and he's not going to get talked into anything he doesn't want to do. Okay? If something goes wrong, I'm sure he'll call here for a ride home. He's a smart guy."

"Well… Yeah, but… I just don't trust Wayne. That's all."

"That's probably because you're tired, and that makes you cranky and bitter."

"You talk like I'm a little kid or something."

Richard raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, shut up. I get enough of that from the idiot _Game On!_ cast. I don't need it from you, too."

"Then maybe you should stop acting like—"

"Shut up, okay? I've had a really long day. I just want to watch a bad sitcom and go to bed."

"Okiedokie." Richard shrugged and tossed the remote back over to Chris, and started out of the room, then paused. "You know, you and Alejandro—it's a shame you don't like him, 'cause it's pretty clear he's had a crush on _you_ since… well, forever, really. And for whatever reason, I think he still does. But that's his business, not mine, anyway. And maybe it's good that he and Wayne went out, since you don't like him. Maybe he's getting over you."

"He…" Chris trailed off, and then rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"Yeah, whatever. Later." Richard walked off, and Chris decided that what he heard from down the hall _wasn't_ a round of hysterical laughter, just Richard clearing his throat, and he turned the volume up on the TV to block it out, anyway.

* * *

Alejandro took a deep breath and let himself into the house. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was late, nearly midnight, and he had to be up for the morning rehearsal in seven hours. He hadn't meant to stay out that late, but Wayne had offered to take him to a movie after dinner, and it had been such a long time since he'd really done anything not related to the band that he couldn't resist.

The house was dark, which was fine with him; everyone headed for bed pretty early. They didn't have much of a choice, there was so much work to be done during the day. But down one of the halls was a faint noise, and Alejandro walked towards it and saw that the TV was on in the living room, though the lights were all out, and no one seemed to be there.

He sighed and started towards the TV to turn it off, thinking about how wasteful people could be, but as he glanced around for the remote saw Chris on the couch. His head was lying against one of the arm rests and his glasses were on the floor, looking like they'd fallen out of one of his hands, which was limply hanging out over the edge of the couch. His hair had fallen in his face and he was still wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants from the day's rehearsals.

Alejandro sighed, clicked the TV off, crouched next to him and shook his shoulder. "Chris?" he asked softly. "Chris?"

"Huh—what?" Chris's eyes opened abruptly, and Alejandro handed him his glasses.

"You fell asleep on the couch, I think."

"Oh." Chris yawned. "Yeah, guess I did. Uh… You okay?"

"Yeah…" Alejandro hesitated. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"What? Uh, no reason, I just… Sorry, it's late, my brain's not working right."

"No problem. You have a good evening?"

"I think I've been asleep since seven, so… sure. Yeah. Uh, how was your… date?"

Alejandro froze. "How'd you know about that?"

"I heard you leave."

"Oh… Uh, it was fine." He sat down on the couch. "Yeah, fine."

"You sound just thrilled, really. Going out again?"

"Probably not." He shrugged. "I dunno, Wayne's a nice guy and all, but not really my type, I guess."

"Oh." Chris nodded, like he was satisfied, for some reason. But maybe Alejandro was reading into that…

Alejandro sighed. "Well, anyway, we should get to bed, huh? Rehearsal in seven hours."

"Don't remind me." Chris groaned. "I'm so sore I can barely move."

"You… want some help? Here." Alejandro stood up and offered Chris a hand, which he took; once Chris was on his feet, Alejandro wrapped an arm around him. "Here, lean on me, if you want."

"Thanks, Alex."

Alejandro smiled. "No problem."

They walked down the hall towards Chris's room, and Chris paused to open the door, then Alejandro helped him to his bed.

"Uh… Don't tell anyone I didn't brush my teeth," Chris said, laughing a little bit, as he set his glasses aside.

"Our secret," Alejandro agreed, and turned out the light on his way out. He glanced back before shutting the door, though, and saw that Chris was pretty much already asleep, still in the dirty rehearsal clothes. He smiled a little and shut the door, making a note to himself to get Chris up in the morning, since he doubted that Chris's alarm was set.

He headed to his own room and sighed. The date really hadn't gone very well, and he wasn't looking forward to seeing Wayne in the morning. But that would have to wait for the morning, because it was late, and he was tired, and really just wanted to go to bed and forget about it.

* * *

Alejandro wasn't telling him something. Chris was sure of it. Glancing at Alejandro over his heaping bowl of breakfast cereal, he resolved that he would find out what it was. And kick Wayne's ass, if necessary.

Or just kick Wayne's ass, period.

CJ bounced into the room and flopped down into a chair. "Morning!"

"Yeah, whatever," Chris muttered.

Alejandro said, "Good morning," but it was clear that he wasn't as focused as he usually was.

"Soooo…" CJ looked slyly at Alejandro. "How was it?"

"How was what?"

"Your big, hot _date_ last night!" CJ leaned forward eagerly, as if waiting to hear some sordid details.

"How… did you know I had a date?"

CJ didn't respond. He didn't have to. All he had to do was point at Chris.

"Oh. Oh, uh, it was okay."

"Okay? Just _okay_? Come _on_, Alejandro," CJ wheedled. "I'm your bandmate! You can tell me anything!"

At that moment, Nick entered the kitchen, yawning into his hand. "G'morning, guys," he said sleepily. "What are we telling CJ?"

"Nothing," Alejandro said quickly.

"He's about to tell me about his date."

"I was _not_ –"

Nick sat down at the table. "The date with Wayne, right? I'm in favor of details."

"There are no _details_," Alejandro said firmly. "It wasn't even really a _date_."

"Oh, yeah? What did you guys do?"

"Just dinner and a movie. _Jeez_." If Alejandro had looked uncomfortable before, now he looked like he was in positive agony.

"Dinner and a movie," Nick repeated. "Oh, _honey_. That's _always_ a date."

"Date?" Richard asked, as he walked in. "Ahhh. So, Alejandro… When _did_ you get home last night?"

Alejandro glared at Chris.

Chris shrugged. "Not like it was a big secret or anything."

"So, what _happened?"_ Nick demanded. "Come on, what was he like?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know…" Nick trailed off. _"Like."_

Alejandro blinked.

"Is Wayne's rhythm in bed as good as it is when he's dancing?" CJ supplied.

"In—oh, uh, no. I mean, I don't know. I mean…" Alejandro groaned.

"Now this sounds like a story," Richard declared, sitting down at the table. "So… you two _did?_"

"No!"

"Really?" Richard sounded confused. "Why not?"

"What do you mean—because—it was our first date!"

"That's so cute," Nick said, beaming. "You're adorable."

"Did he try?" Chris asked, finally giving in to his curiosity, despite himself.

"Well…" Alejandro cleared his throat. "I don't think that's any of anyone's business, and anyway—"

"He did!" Chris yelled. "He hit on you! Did he touch you?"

_"What?"_

"When he _hit_ on you! Did he invite you in to his apartment? What did he do?"

CJ stifled a snicker. "Show us on the doll where the bad man touched you, Alex."

"You know, I could be graduating from high school in, like, a week. I could be heading off to college. Where I wouldn't have to deal with—"

"Alejandro, come on. You have to give us details," Richard said. "I mean… He's _Wayne._ Everyone's been curious. Except Chris, who thinks he's evil."

"He _is_ evil," Chris mumbled.

"Guys, I really don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"Why not?" Nick asked, sounding as though it was a reasonable question.

"Hey," Chris snapped. "If he doesn't want to talk about it, that's his business." He turned to Rich and pointed an accusing finger at him. "I _told_ you this would happen. I _said_ that he'd come home traumatized and upset."

"Uh," Alejandro said.

"Chris, lighten up. Wayne didn't do anything to him, he's home in one piece, and—"

"How do you know he didn't do anything?"

"Because Alejandro just _told_ us, you moron."

Chris glowered. "Well, it's not like he's just going to _talk_ about it."

"I'm right here, Chris," Alejandro said.

"Yeah, I know."

Alejandro raised an eyebrow and said nothing. Chris glared around the room.

"I think," he said, "that Wayne is a creep. He has no business trying to screw around with _any_ of us, and he's what, six years older than Alex? It's just creepy!"

"Um," Alejandro said again. "I… I had an okay time, actually."

"Oh!" Nick squeaked. "Details!"

Alejandro looked pained. "I had chicken parmesan for dinner, the movie sucked, he drove me home."

"Did he kiss you?" Nick asked.

Alejandro rolled his eyes.

_"Did_ he?" Chris asked sharply.

"You know, I'm going to go get ready for rehearsal now, and I suggest you all do the same." Alejandro stood up, deposited his bowl in the sink, and left the room.

There was a pause, and everyone else exchanged looks. "Rich—" CJ started.

"Yeah, I'll go."

Richard followed quickly, catching up to Alejandro the moment before he could have slammed the door of his room shut.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine, go away, it's no one's business."

"Okay, but…" He cleared his throat. "Chris is a little insane, but he has a point, in that Wayne is kinda sketchy, so if anything happened it _is_ our business. We just want to look out for you."

"I don't need—"

"So nothing happened?"

_"No,_ nothing happened!" Alejandro snapped, which was a little startling, because Alejandro just _didn't snap._ He was the only one in the band who had never screamed at Chris, even.

"Uh, okay but… You seem kind of wound up. Is all."

Alejandro rolled his eyes. "I didn't sleep with him, okay? And I'm a virgin, okay?"

"Um, figured." Richard shrugged.

"And it was the first date I've been on."

"Oh!" Richard said, squeaking, sounding a little like Nick, but catching himself quickly. "I mean, oh. Cool."

Alejandro rolled his eyes. "So go ahead and laugh; get it out of your system."

"No, I wouldn't—none of us would," Richard said quickly. "But… I mean, was it okay? Did you have a good time?"

Alejandro shrugged. "It was okay."

"Well, that's enthusiastic. Are you two going to go out again?"

_"No."_

"Okay. Right, well, okay." He cleared his throat again, awkwardly. "So…"

Alejandro rolled his eyes. "He did kiss me, and invite me back to his apartment, and offer to give me a ride home in the morning."

"Oh," Richard said. "I see. And you…"

"Declined."

"And everything's okay?"

"I get the feeling he hasn't been declined too often. Uh, if I make myself throw up, would they still make me go to rehearsal today?"

"Alejandro, I throw up, like, every day we go on stage. They still make _me."_

"Oh, yeah."

"Listen, uh… You'll be with us, okay? You won't be alone with him, and if he's an asshole I can promise Chris will throw a diva fit at him, and that's always fun to watch, if nothing else. Right?"

"I guess."

"And if you're upset, you know, there's five of us and only one of him." He shrugged. "I guess this is why we keep saying we're like brothers in interviews."

Alejandro nodded. "Okay."

"So… No worries. Anyway, I think it's pretty cool that you don't just fall into bed with anyone—I mean, when you eventually do, it'll be something pretty special."

"I hope so."

Richard smiled. "Anyway, we'll see you in the studio in a couple of minutes?"

"Yeah."

"Uh, hey… Cheer up, okay? You did something amazing."

"What did I do?"

"You made me admit that Chris was right about something." Richard shot him a smile, and Alejandro smiled back, and Richard let out a breath. It would be okay. Awkward, but okay.

* * *

**AN:** First off, though the girls on Game On! are all OCs (except Sarah, heh), the guys are not, and are as follows (not that we ever see them again):

Pie Eater – Daren

Jake – Jake

Itey – Caleb

As for the rest of it, we really love Wayne. Wait, scratch that. We really love yelling "Wayne!" and shaking our fists in impotent rage. Did we mention we read all of these chapters aloud before we post them? We're _hilarious._


	9. Nine

Nine.

Chris was pretty sure he was actually dying. This wasn't him exaggerating, as people claimed he often did, and it wasn't just in his head. He was pretty sure he was actually _dying._

They had been on the road with _Game On!_ for three weeks, and had three more left. He'd had a cold since they set out, and it hadn't gone away yet; in fact, it had gotten far worse. He couldn't sleep because his nose was too stuffed up, and every time he got comfortable he'd start coughing and wake himself up again. And he could barely sing—it came out nasal as it was. Keeping him awake for shows was mostly a matter of over the counter drugs (luckily, Sudafed had uppers) and gallons of herbal tea.

He was carrying tissues with him on stage, and didn't want to think about what CJ had taken to referring to as "snot dripping." Because he couldn't really stop in the middle of a dance to blow his nose.

It was _disgusting._

But the tour was nearly sold out, so it wasn't like he had a choice, either.

He also was having trouble keeping down solids; he was throwing up more often than Richard had at the height of his anxiety problems. He subsisted mostly on tea, chicken soup (but only the broth—the chicken was too much) and toast. Which didn't give him a lot of energy to bounce around on stage. But again, Sudafed had speed, and he was an actor, and a performer.

Still, though. What he wouldn't have given for a day off. But Weisel was very clear on that: no days off, no canceled shows unless he was in the hospital. The only days they weren't on stage they were traveling, and he spent those days asleep on the bus, but it wasn't _good_ sleep, due to the amount of jostling around from being on the road.

Chris was kind of hoping he'd end up in the hospital.

At least the other guys were being nice about it, he mused, as he lay in the dark, wishing he was asleep. They babied him and made fun of him, but even CJ had stopped bouncing around when he was in the room trying to sleep. (He suspected that Richard's mom must have threatened him with bodily harm, and for a change he was thankful.)

"Chris—hey, Chris? You awake?"

"No," Chris answered, as the door to his hotel room was pushed open. He groaned.

It was Alejandro, with a pill case and a cup of tea. "Sorry. I thought you might have drifted off. But if not, it's medicine time."

"Glee."

Alejandro chuckled and turned on the light. Chris winced, and Alejandro did too, but (Chris was upset to realize) it was from seeing him, not from the light. He sighed. "Do I look that bad?"

"You look like death on toast."

"Great."

"At least Weisel canceled the photographers."

"So no one will notice I'm a reanimated corpse."

"Exactly. Here." Alejandro set the handful of pills down on the bedside table and pressed the cup of tea into Chris's hand.

"What pills are those?"

Alejandro shrugged. "At this point, do you really care?"

"No." He took a drink of the tea. "Are any of them illegal?"

"Not so far as I know."

"Damn."

"Well…" Alejandro nodded towards them, and Chris sighed.

"Swallowing hurts my throat."

"So does breathing. They'll help."

"If you say so…" Chris groaned and reached for the pills. There were a whole variety of them; red and brown and yellow. He swallowed them one at a time, because he couldn't do it any more quickly, and leaned back against the wall of pillows that Alejandro and Richard had set up for him when he couldn't lie down.

"Um…" Alejandro cleared his throat. "Can I get you anything else?"

"A new nose?"

"I'll get right on that."

Chris groaned. "I feel awful. I think I'm losing weight."

Alejandro coughed politely. "Uh, no, really?"

"I was gonna weigh myself but I'm too tired. Do I look gaunt?"

"Um… You look tired. You've been sick for three weeks."

"I'm not gonna get better, am I?"

"What, ever? Don't be silly."

"Three weeks. I'm gonna die on this tour, Alex."

"At least then, you'd get some sleep."

"No kidding."

"I _am_ kidding, Chris. We'll take care of you, okay?"

Chris sniffed. "You'd think they'd at least cancel the opening acts, when I can't move."

"You've been managing."

"I'm so tired, Alex." He didn't even sound whiny when he said it; he was too tired to whine. "And I ache everywhere. And I can't breath."

"I, uh." Alex paused. "I hope you don't mind. Rich and I called your mom. She's coming to visit."

"Mom?" Chris repeated.

"I hope that's okay…"

Chris nodded. "I want my _mom,"_ he mumbled. "Alex, I think I'm _dying."_

"You're not gonna die, okay?"

Chris nodded.

"So, uh… CJ and Nick and I went shopping."

"Yeah?"

"I found a t-shirt I almost bought for you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It says 'jailbait'."

Chris laughed weakly. "Yeah, that's me. Why do you keep buying me girl's t-shirts?"

Alejandro shrugged. "I didn't actually get it… Next time I see one."

"They let you loose at the mall?"

"Well, with guards. I can't believe they made us bring security guards."

"We're famous."

_"I'm_ not famous. _You're_ famous."

Chris laughed again. "No one screamed when you walked by?"

"Someone asked me for your number."

"No, for real. You got fans, Alex."

Alejandro shrugged. "I guess."

"C'mon. Didn't anyone freak out when you walked by?"

"I figured it was for Nick."

"Alex, you're too _modest._"

Alejandro shrugged again.

"Come on, tell me. No one… Someone must have yelled for _you."_

"Well, I guess. There were a couple girls."

"Great!"

"Yeah, now if only I liked _girls."_

Chris laughed. "Come on, you gotta like it. When people love you. They don't even know you and they love you."

"I'd rather be loved by people I know."

"You are," Chris said. "I mean, you can have _both,_ right? I mean… not me, 'cause I'm a diva."

"Chris, we love you."

"Then why won't Weisel cancel any of the shows?"

"'We' doesn't include smelly old fat men."

"Oh, harsh."

"True, though."

"Yeah. But you're the _nice_ one."

"Yeah, I guess."

"I mean, you called my mom for me."

"Well, Richard—"

"Nuh uh, I'll bet it was your idea. Rich hates moms."

"Well… Okay, it was my idea, but… I was just worried about you. That's all."

"I do look like death on toast."

"I didn't _mean_ that."

"Sure you did. 'Cause it's true. And you're honest."

"If I was honest, they wouldn't have been screaming _girls."_

"Yeah, but about the… the real things."

"That's not a real thing?"

"You know what I mean…" Chris took another drink of tea. "I'm tired."

"I'll let you sleep, then."

Chris shrugged. "If you wanna hang out for awhile… I'm sick of being alone all the time. Sleeping. I'm tired but I never get out of bed 'cept to go on stage…"

"And you pass out as soon as you're off." Alejandro shrugged. "I'll, uh, just sit down then, okay?" He hesitated, then pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat near Chris (though not near enough to inhale any of the germs, he hoped).

"Great. You wanna play cards or flip channels or something?"

"Whatever you want. You're the one who's sick."

Chris gave him a sickly smile. "Thanks, Alex."

* * *

Anya Ivanovitch was like a breath of fresh air, compared to Richard's mother. She laughed easily and was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and though her hair was starting to turn gray, it was hard to tell—it was already such a pale blond it was nearly white. She dropped her bag in the common room of the hotel suite they'd rented, smiled at the gathered boys, and declared, "Hello, nice to meet you, I hear my son is dying?"

"Rumors of his death are greatly exaggerated," Richard answered.

"Rich, good to see you again."

"Hey, Mrs. Ivanovitch. Uh… Have you met…"

"I've read all your profiles in _Teen Beat,"_ she answered. "Where's Chris?"

"Second room down the hall."

"Thanks. I'll get to know you boys later, I hope, but, well…"

They all kind of nodded, and Anya let herself out and down the hall.

Alejandro gave Richard a confused look. "Ivanovitch?" he repeated.

"Yep."

"Huh. I didn't know that."

"Get this—Chris's real name? Kristoff."

"I did not know that either." He paused. "That's the kind of thing you'd think I'd know."

"Yeah, fanboy," CJ said, jumping in. "I thought you knew everything."

Alejandro rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"Chris doesn't really publicize that he's," he finger quoted the word, "ethnic."

"You know, 'cause fans might have trouble saying his name," Nick added. "Or identifying with him."

"Remind me again why I agreed to do this?" Alejandro sighed.

"'Cause you wanted to be close to Chriiiiiiis—"

"Swifty. _Shut up."_

"I thought you guys agreed to only call me Swifty in interviews," CJ sulked.

"Then stop being annoying," Alejandro snapped back.

"Me_ow,"_ Nick said.

Richard raised an eyebrow. "'Meow,"?" he quoted. "How is it _possible_ that no one has noticed you're gay?"

"I'm a great actor," Nick answered, winking.

"You must be," Richard mumbled, then, "Come on, it's not nice to make fun of anyone's first puppy love experience. Be nice."

"Richard, please stop helping," Alejandro said.

"I just meant, it's _cute_ that you like Chris, because, it's just adorable."

Alejandro stared at him.

"I mean, it's sweet."

Stare.

"In a good way."

Stare.

"I'll stop helping."

"Thank you."

"But," Nick noted, "you didn't deny—"

"Please stop," Alejandro sighed. "Please, okay?"

"Okay. None of us are going to tell him, Alejandro," Nick continued. "And he's way too oblivious to notice, so…"

"Yeah," Alejandro said. "I noticed that."

"Oh, honey, I didn't mean—"

"Please stop talking."

"Okay."

Alejandro looked at CJ. _"Don't_ you start—"

"Hey, no, I got it. I'm cool. When you start yelling at people, I get the message. Jeez."

"I didn't yell."

"For you, it was yelling."

"Then stop talking about it."

"I will."

"Good."

"Fine."

_"Fine."_

There was a pause. "I do hope Chris's door was shut," Nick commented. "Anyone want to order pizza?"

"Oh, pizza! On it!" CJ bounced over to the phone, and Alejandro let out a deep breath.

"You okay?" Richard asked him quietly. He nodded in response. "Okay…" Richard shrugged. "To tell the truth, you deserve better."

"I really don't want to talk about it."

"Fine. But we're always here if—"

"Richard, you're helping again."

"Sorry."

* * *

"Mom, I don't feel good."

"No kidding," she answered, placing a hand on his forehead. "You have a fever."

"I've had a fever for two weeks."

"I see."

"I haven't been able to eat real food in… I don't know. Days. I tried to eat a slice of pizza a few days ago."

"That probably wasn't very smart."

"That's what Alex said. Then I puked."

"Lovely." She sighed. "Kristoff, what am I going to do with you?"

"Ground me so I can't go on stage? Please?"

"Wow, you don't want to go on stage, you _must_ be dying."

"Mom, I'm serious. I'm so sick."

"I know, sweetie." She smiled over at him. "I'll talk to your manager."

"Thanks, Mom."

"So tell me, are you having fun?"

"Not lately."

"In general, Kristoff."

"I, uh… Yeah. I mean, it's great. The other guys are… Well, you know, guys."

"Do you get along with them?"

"Sometimes," he answered elusively. "They're nicer when I'm dying."

"So are you, to be fair," she shot back.

"Yeah, I guess. _Mo-om."_

"Don't whine at me, it doesn't work."

He pouted. "Fine. I won't ask for any more—"

A voice cut in at the door. "Tea?"

"Alejandro reads my mind sometimes," Chris said, and his mother tuned around to see Alejandro standing in the doorframe.

"Sorry for interrupting, but he's been guzzling that stuff about every hour on the hour, so…"

"Could you, Alex?"

"No problem, water's already heating."

Mrs. Ivanovitch glanced over at Chris, and then at Alejandro. "Well, I see my little boy's been taken care of," she said. "I didn't get to meet you properly before. Bumlets, they call you?"

"Only when they have to. It's, uh, Alejandro, mostly."

"Alejandro, good to meet you."

"You too, uh, ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am, it makes me feel old," she chided. "What's the point of living vicariously through my famous son if you're just going to make me feel old?"

"Sorry."

"I'm _kidding," _she said. "That's more Virginia's thing."

"You know Ms. Alcott?"

She nodded. "We've met," she said, sounding vaguely disgusted.

"Uh," Chris said. "Yeah, Alejandro's been… Taking real good care of me."

"Except for when he let you try and eat pizza, it would seem."

"I did try to stop him," Alejandro said. "He's stubborn."

"Oh believe me, I _know."_'

"Mom, don't talk about—"

"He didn't like to wear clothes, when he was a toddler."

_"Mom!"_

"Or take baths."

_"Mother!"_

"For years, I was chasing him around with a diaper and a t-shirt. _Years."_

Alejandro laughed. "That's possibly the most adorable thing I've ever heard."

"Why don't we invite _your_ mom over and have her tell stories about _you?"_ Chris sulked.

"Because I was very well behaved."

"You would be."

Alejandro smiled, still half-laughing. "I'll go make your tea. Good to meet you, Mrs. Ivanovitch."

"And you too, Alejandro. Kristoff may be a stubborn pain in the rear sometimes, but I'm glad someone was looking out for him."

_"Mooooooom."_

Alejandro laughed and shut the door, leaving them to catch up with each other.

Mrs. Ivanovitch raised an eyebrow. "So he seems nice."

"Yeah…"

"No, that's all I was saying."

"Okay." Chris paused. "Why, what else were you implying?"

"Absolutely nothing, dear. So." She glanced at the box of tissues, the pill bottles, the empty mugs, and sighed. "This is what happens when I let my little boy tour without me."

"Mom, I'm old enough…"

"You're sure you don't want me here? Look at how close Virginia and Richard are."

"Richard hates her. We all kind of hate her."

She shrugged. "Well, she has all of your best interests in mind, I'm sure. Kristoff, sweetie, I just hate seeing you sick like this."

"I wouldn't be better if you were here."

"Please. Mothers always make these things better." She smiled.

"Well… I mean, I missed you. But Alejandro's been taking care of me…"

"Alejandro, I see." She nodded. "He seems like a good guy to have around."

"He's responsible. If that's what you mean."

"It wasn't, but that's all right. You're sick."

"Mom, what…?"

"Don't worry, dear. Do you want to sleep?"

"Yeah… kinda."

"Well, I'll send Alejandro in with tea, but tell him you're dozing off. In the meantime, why don't I go reacquaint myself with your manager?"

"Can I listen?"

"No, you're sleeping."

"Kick his ass, Mom."

"Don't swear, Kristoff." She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I'm here for three days. We'll catch up later."

He nodded. "'Night, Mom."

"Goodnight, dear."

She stood up and glanced down the hall at Alejandro, who was pouring water from a kettle into a mug. She walked over to him, and nodded. "Thank you," she said. "For dealing with him."

"He's my friend," Alejandro said. "And anyway, we need him, so…"

"Of course. Don't tell him that, though, it'll make his ego worse." She sighed. "You can see how raising him would be a challenge."

"I can imagine."

"He's going to rest for awhile—he appreciates the tea, though."

"It's no problem."

"If you'll excuse me, Alejandro, I have to yell at your manager."

"Can I listen?"

"Now, that's not very nice." She winked. "I'll try to make sure you can hear me through the door, though eavesdropping is a terrible habit."

He nodded. "Thanks."

"Well, you've been so nice to my boy." She nodded and strode purposefully down the hall, to the room Weisel had claimed as his office, knocked on the door, and let herself in. "Good _evening."_

"Mrs. Ivers, hi—"

"Ivanovitch, please, and don't you 'hi' me. My son—"

"He's recovering quite—"

"Poorly, I noticed, he's never sick for this long. I know, I'm his mother. That's why I was so surprised to hear you hadn't canceled any shows, since you clearly noticed how long it's taking him to get better."

"Well, we'd considered, but—"

"But it makes no sense at the early part of the tour, of course. You've got to make sure the fans have heard from other fans, so they know what to look forward to; it would be awful to cancel a show at the beginning, but now that we're halfway along, isn't it about time to think about it?"

"Well, I—"

"Will think about it, I'm so glad to hear that."

"Mrs. Ivers—"

"Ivanovitch."

"Whatever, the point is—"

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"The point is, we're not well enough established as a band to risk taking time off—"

"You'll ruin yourselves if your star passes out on stage. And just think of how the tabloids will react. I'd rather not read stories about my sixteen year old son's nonexistent drug habits."

"I—"

"Or anorexia; have you noticed how much weight he's lost? He's not a healthy boy."

"Yes, that's true, but the doctor said that all he really needs is rest, so—"

"So you'll cancel the next three shows so he can get it, lovely."

"So there's nothing I can do."

"That wasn't a request, Mister Weasel."

"That's _Weisel."_

"Whatever."

There was something that sounded like loud, raucous laugher from outside, followed by a round of _shh!_, and she smiled.

"The point, Mister Weasel, is that my son is very sick, and the doctor recommended he take time to recover; if he doesn't _take_ such time, there will be talk within the industry about your management skills—not to mention discussion within the social workers' community about child labor laws. And I'm sure the Face Forward management would have some interesting words on the subject as well."

"You can not come in here and threaten—"

"When my sixteen year old son has been sick for three weeks, I can do whatever I damn well please. Now, are you going to cancel the next five shows, or should I start making phone calls?"

"Two."

"Three."

"Deal."

"Good." She nodded. "It was lovely getting to know you, I'll be here to take care of Kristoff for several days."

"Wonderful." He rolled his eyes.

She nodded curtly at him, and let herself out of the room—where someone immediately hugged her.

"You rock!"

"CJ, let her go."

"She rocks! Rich, why can't your mom be so cool?"

"CJ, she can't breathe."

"Oh." He let her go. "Sorry. That was awesome!"

She glanced at Alejandro. "I didn't realize I'd have an entourage waiting."

He shrugged. "I thought they might appreciate hearing it."

"Yes, well. I try not to be a stage mother, but I _am_ still a mother. Is Kristoff sleeping?"

Alejandro nodded.

"Good, let's let him rest. So what do you boys do for fun, most nights?"

They exchanged looks. "Well," Richard said. "We sleep. We, uh, are kind of glad for the rest, too."

"Anything I can do, Rich. How's your mother?"

"Clinically insane."

"Glad to hear she's still doing well."

* * *

Nick closed the door to his room almost guiltily, locked it, and pulled out his cellphone. He had one missed call, and no message. He sighed. It wasn't surprising that there was no message, but still; it was nice to get a cheerful voicemail occasionally.

He hit the button to call back, and it rang twice before it was picked up.

"Nick?"

"Ryan? I called as soon as I could."

"I hear you guys are getting some time off, finally."

"Chris is dying. How're you? How's the recording going?"

"It was better before Tony tried to start writing lyrics. Pulitzer doesn't want to use them."

"No kidding."

"Yeah, well, I didn't really call to talk about Tony. Are you alone?"

"Sure am, baby."

"I miss you."

"I miss you too." Nick flopped down on his bed. "Are _you_ alone?"

"Yeah." Ryan sighed from the other end of the line. "I want to see you."

"Same here, but we're touring."

"When you stop in New York, can we get together?"

"I'll see what I can do to sneak away."

"I can't wait. You're amazing."

"No, _you're_ amazing."

"I think I'm falling for you."

"I know I'm falling for you."

"I have my pants down."

"Ooh, tell me more."


	10. Ten

Ten.

"I've got a five and a six to go on your two through four, so there." CJ laid down the cards triumphantly, then discarded one.

Richard raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, I needed that." He picked up the discarded card, laid down six of the seven in his hand, and discarded the seventh. "What do you know, I won another hand. Go me."

Chris pouted at him. "I'm sick," he whined. "You could at least let me win one or two."

"You're getting better, stop whining," Richard answered.

"But I coulda died!"

"Stop exaggerating, dear." Mrs. Ivanovitch began to count out the cards left in everyone's hands and update the tally they'd been keeping. Richard was winning, but only by forty; she and Alejandro were tied with 335 each, right behind him.

"I'm not exaggerating, if you hadn't shown up we wouldn't have gotten _any_ rest and I'd have _died."_

"That's nice, dear."

"Mom!"

"Hey, you, shut it and let the cards do the talking," CJ declared. "Nick, it's your turn to deal."

"Yeah, yeah." Nick sighed.

"What're you so mopey about, anyway?" Alejandro asked.

"I think I missed a phone call earlier."

"…Yeah?"

"Uh, my family. Was gonna call. But if they did I missed it… And I miss my family. I mean, it's not like _my_ mom flew out to visit."

"You want a mom, you can have mine," Richard mumbled.

"Now, that's not very nice," Mrs. Ivanovitch said.

"You've met her."

"I meant not very nice to Nick," she clarified.

"Chris, I can't get over this," CJ said. "Your mom is so… _cool."_

"Thank you, dear," she answered. "Stop bouncing, you're knocking the cards all over."

"Sorry," he apologized quickly, and did his best to sit still for a good thirty seconds. But the bouncing was actually problematic; Chris had yet to be released from bedrest, so they were all gathered around his bed, playing cards on the comforter. It was the kind of bonding that they talked about in interviews all the time, though it wasn't often they actually _did_ it.

Nick finished dealing the hand and as everyone started to organize their cards, his phone rang. "I gotta take this—bye—CJ, don't look at my cards!"

He dashed out of the room as he dug his phone out of his pocket.

CJ glanced around at the other players, shrugged, and picked up Nick's hand.

"CJ, don't cheat," Alejandro sighed.

"What, he's talking to his family, he won't be back for this hand. Rich is gonna win it in, like, two minutes anyway."

"Yeah, how _did_ you get to be so good at cards, Rich?" Chris asked.

Richard shrugged and mumbled something noncommittal.

"Well, whatever," Chris declared, and then coughed loudly for a minute. "It doesn't matter anyway 'cause I'm gonna win this hand. For once."

"Uh huh." Richard raised an eyebrow, and Chris pouted at him. The fact that Chris still looked quite sick, with bags under his eyes and far too gaunt, helped it look sad instead of irritating.

"Should we wait for Nick?" Alejandro asked.

"Nah, his cards are too good, don't bother. Anyway, you know how he is when he's on the phone with his folks. He's going to be gone for_ever."_

They all looked over at Mrs. Ivanovitch, who shrugged. "Well, we might as well play the hand, at least for a little bit."

And so they kept playing, and it was an hour later that Nick resurfaced, and only a few minutes after that that Richard finally crossed the five hundred point mark, and the game ended. Which was just as well, Chris was getting more and more tired, and coughing again.

"Do you want to rest, Kristoff?" Mrs. Ivanovitch asked.

He nodded. "My throat huts. Mom, I don't know if I'll be able to sing…"

"You'll be fine, don't worry." She kissed his forehead and ushered everyone out of the room, but Alejandro hesitated.

"Do you want anything for your throat?" he asked.

Chris nodded, looking sickly.

Ten minutes later, Alejandro reappeared, carefully holding a steaming mug of tea. Chris was almost asleep when he let himself in, so he just smiled and set it down on the bedside table and was about to start out, when Chris stirred.

"Alejandro?"

"Yeah?"

"I just… I was thinking and it's really… I mean, I didn't get why you were so insistent about your name and stuff, when we had our first show. But I think I get it now."

"Uh… Really?"

"Yeah… It's cool. I mean… You're so _you_ and you don't care about the stupid show biz stuff or anything, you just want to be who you are. I bet you'd even be out if we'd let you."

Alejandro shrugged.

"Anyway… I just… I mean, it's cool. That you want to be so real. 'Cause my name is Kristoff but no one but my mom ever calls me that. Kristoff Ivanovitch. No one knows my real name, even."

Alejandro swallowed. "I do, Chris. Now."

"I know you do now. I just…" He shrugged. "I never told anybody. 'Cause I wanted to fit the right image. It was my choice, even. But… I never met anyone like you, anyone _real_ like you."

"Thanks, I guess."

"I'm sorry I called you Alex for so long, 'cause I know it's not what you like, and I'm still sorry about being a jerk at school…"

"Chris," Alejandro said, slightly embarrassed. "I think you're delirious. You should go to sleep."

Chris nodded. "I'm tired. But… G'night, Alejandro."

Alejandro smiled softly and let himself out of the room. He was very glad no one noticed he was also blushing.

The suite seemed oddly quiet, though, and then there was a burst of laughter mixed with groans from Nick's room. Alejandro let himself in to see that Nick, CJ and Richard were gathered around Nick's laptop at the desk.

"Uh… hey," Alejandro said. "What's up?"

"Hey, Alex," Nick said, and dissolved into a round of helpless giggles.

"Did I miss something?"

"Uh…" Nick glanced at CJ and Richard and started laughing, and so did CJ. Richard managed to stay composed for another few seconds, and tried to speak.

"We were, uh, doing google searches. For ourselves."

"Yeah?"

"And, um, CJ put in 'CJ-slash-Nick' to try and find either one of them… And it turned up some…" He shrugged. "Stories."

"Stories?"

"Apparently, the slash means we're having sex!" CJ added enthusiastically.

"To be fair, you were for awhile," Alejandro said evenly, still not sure what was going on.

"No, I mean the stories—fans—girls, we think—they _write_ stories. About us. Having sex."

"Okay… weird."

"Not just us, all of us," Nick explained. "Lots of people really want to see Rich go down on Chris, turns out."

"Um…" Alejandro glanced back at the door. "I'll come back later."

"No, no, you haven't heard yours yet!"

"I don't want to."

"There was this one, where you got Chris really drunk—"

"Oh, god."

"And tied him down to a bedpost—"

"Oh, _god."_

"And let us just say, the things you were doing to him got us all…" Nick fanned himself.

"Great, well, this is very strange. Why are you… Why do people _write_ this stuff?"

CJ shrugged. "I called my sister, she says it's popular online."

"Why?"

"I dunno, but she writes it. Apparently, she started the whole group of stories about me and Nick back when we were still—"

"You don't think that's creepy? That your sister is writing stories about you having sex?"

CJ stopped. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

Alejandro raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, here's one," Nick said. "You, Rich, and chocolate syrup—"

"Please, stop."

"Okay, what about you and me?" CJ said. "We found a few of those, but people write about me and Chris more often. That's weird."

"Yeah." Alejandro nodded. "Unlike writing about you and Nick, because that's _perfectly normal._"

"Come on," Richard said. "You don't want to read a story about you and Chris? Not even a little bit?"

Alejandro stared at him. _"No,"_ he said emphatically.

"Really? We found one—not much sex in it, very cute. About you and Chris getting together. It was just adorable. How he calls you a genius all the time and you deny it, but it's because he's got a real thing for you and eventually he comes out and just says it in an interview and all the press backlash but—"

"Richard, I _do not want to read it,"_ Alejandro said. "Um. You guys have fun with this. I'm going to go do something that doesn't involve reading someone else's fantasies about me."

"Spoilsport," Nick sulked. "You might like some of these, you know. It's not like people think they're _real._ Even the ones that are." He glanced at CJ, but CJ had found something else to read and was engrossed.

"At least people are thinking of us. And to be fair, we are all a little gay," Richard said. "It's not like they're _wrong."_

CJ continued to stare at the screen.

"Yeah, but what if—I mean, my _sister_ uses google," Alejandro said. "She's _eleven._ I don't want her to accidentally read… anything by CJ's sister."

"Lighten up," Nick said. "Half of these are written by eleven year olds."

"You're kidding me."

"Well, you'd think from the writing," Nick said. "But seriously, it's kind of funny."

CJ was still staring at the screen.

"Okay, well… Yeah. You guys have fun. I'm going to go do something that isn't _this_ now."

"You don't know what you're missing. That story about you and Chris was really—"

But Alejandro had left. Richard shrugged, and glanced over at CJ, who was still staring at the laptop intently.

"Nick!" he yelped abruptly. "Why didn't you ever actually _do_ this?"

Nick glanced at the screen. "CJ, dear, that's fiction. Someone's fantasy."

"Mine, now."

"CJ."

"Nick, if you'd done that, we'd still be together."

"CJ, darling, shut up."

* * *

"CJ," Nick declared, after they finally finished reading various stories. "I was thinking about that one story."

"Which one, the elevator one? 'Cause that one's hot."

"No, the one about Alejandro."

"Alejandro and who?"

"Alejandro and _Chris,_ you loser!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know? There were stories about Alejandro and everybody!"

Nick rolled his eyes. "CJ. Listen to me. Alejandro… Well, he's Chris's _biggest_ fan, right?"

"Yeah… Nick, I don't think I like the look in your eyes."

"Oh, come on. They'd be so cute together!"

"I love Chris and all, but I wouldn't wish him on Alejandro. Or… Anyone. He'd be impossible."

"Pshah," Nick waved dismissively. "Alejandro's crush on him is just _adorable,_ and he'd be so _good_ for Chris. And Chris has… improved. Somewhat."

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"CJ, please. You know they'd be perfect together. You read the story."

"It's just a story, Nick. You're talking about trying to manipulate your friends' _lives."_

"To make them _happier!"_

"This is going to end so badly."

"Will you help me anyway?" Nick batted his eyelashes.

"Well, of course. I just want my reluctance noted."

"Noted! Let's get to work."

* * *

It was nearing the end of their three day rest, and Chris had finally been allowed out of bed. He was now able to wander around the suite in a daze, wrapped in a blanket that trailed onto the floor and collected dust. Even though he still needed (or wanted, at least) constant attention, Alejandro was slightly relieved. At least now he didn't need to peek into Chris's room every ten minutes to make sure that he was still alive.

Chris's mother had left that afternoon, giving Chris a big hug and making Alejandro promise to take care of him. Which he did anyway.

So now he was standing in the kitchen, washing out one of the mugs that Chris had used for his constant tea drinking. He was just setting the dripping mug aside to dry when he heard a fake cough behind him.

Alejandro used a soapy hand to push his hair out of his eyes and turned around to find Nick standing behind him.

About three inches behind him.

Alejandro yelped in surprise and jerked away. "Why did you sneak up on me?" he exclaimed.

"I didn't sneak up," Nick said with a look of wounded innocence on his face. "You just didn't hear me, that's all."

"Okay," Alejandro said slowly. "Is… everything all right?"

"Oh, sure, everything's fine. Just great."

"That's good."

"Right."

"So, uh, why were you standing right behind me?"

"Oh, _that_," Nick said, airily waving his hand. "It's really nothing important."

"Nothing important," Alejandro repeated.

"Exactly."

"So unimportant that we're standing here having a conversation about it?"

"Well, now that you mention it," Nick said, flourishing a small, flat package, "there _is_ something."

Alejandro blinked. "Whatever it is, does it have to do with the package you're waving at me?"

"It might. Now, listen, Alejandro, I made a mix CD."

"Uh, good for you."

"It's full of Chris's favorite songs."

"Well, it was nice of you to make a mix CD for him, but I don't see what that's got to do with _me_."

"You know him best," Nick said, "so I was thinking that you could give it to him."

"I don't… I mean, you made it, you should give it to him," Alejandro replied, a trifle unsteadily. Did he know Chris the best? Really?

Nick shook his head emphatically. "No. I get weird about giving gifts to people. I mean, you don't need to make a huge production out of it. Just, you know, hand it to him and mention that it's got some of his favorites on it."

"Uh…" Alejandro had a feeling that Nick wasn't being entirely honest with him. "Nick, why'd you do this?"

"Oh, I was just feeling a little guilty. I mean, we've all been so hard on him, and then he got really sick, and didn't even get to hang out and have any fun while we were goofing around, and now his mom's gone – I just thought it would be a nice thing to do for a band mate."

"Oh. Okay, if you really want me to give it to him, just set it there on the counter and I'll take it to him when I'm finished here."

"Great! Thanks!"

Nick positively bounced away. Alejandro shook his head in bemusement and turned back to the sink.

* * *

Things were going swimmingly, Nick thought. At least, he thought so until Chris, still wrapped in a blanket, approached him with a slightly suspicious look on his face.

"Hey, Chris, what's up?" he asked mildly.

"I wanted to thank you for the CD," Chris replied. "It was nice of you to make it for me."

Nick gaped for a second. "Uh, no. You've got the wrong guy. I didn't make that. I think Alejandro did."

"Alejandro said… that _you_ did." Now Chris looked downright bewildered. "I was, uh, a little confused, though. I mean it's a good mix, and all, but, uh, it's nothing but love songs."

"Oh," Nick said uncomfortably, forcing a laugh. "I, uh, wouldn't know. I didn't make it." As he spoke, he edged away until he was nearly out of the room. He turned around and yelled at the top of his lungs, "_CJ_!"

He stalked away dramatically, leaving a very confused Chris behind him.

* * *

Alejandro looked quizzically down at the flowers. They'd just been delivered, and he didn't quite have it in him to open the card—he had no idea who would send him a bouquet of roses, but a pretty good idea who it wasn't.

But still…

He slid the attached card out of the envelope and read it:

_Great performance tonight!_

_Come by my room later?_

_Love,_

_Chris_

He sighed, and turned around, and Nick was hovering about three inches behind him. Again.

"Nick?" he asked.

"Someone sent you flowers!" Nick pinched his cheek. "That's so cute! Who was it?"

"Well," Alejandro said suspiciously. "The card says they're from Chris."

Nick squealed a little and clapped a hand over his mouth.

Alejandro raised an eyebrow. "On the other hand, someone made Chris a love CD last week, and it sure wasn't me. Odd, huh?"

Nick scowled. "_CJ!"_ he shrieked, turned around, and stalked dramatically from the room.

Alejandro stared after him, then sighed. They _were_ lovely roses…

He couldn't bring himself to drop them in the trash on the way out. But he did recycle the card. It was a fake, anyway.

* * *

The fact that the boys were still sharing a dressing room was a little odd; they were more than popular. But they did, and it had gotten past the point where it was awkward, they knew each other too well. And after a show they were all exhausted, and all anyone wanted to do was change out of the costumes, back into regular clothes, and unwind.

"Uh…" Alejandro paused. "I'm pretty sure I left my clothes here."

Richard glanced over at him. "Maybe you dropped them somewhere?"

"No, I folded them and left them on top of the dresser… Where are my—"

"Hey, guys?" Chris called from across the room. "Has anyone seen my pants? I can't find them anywhere! Or… my shirt."

Alejandro glanced over at him, and saw that Chris was standing around in a pair of boxers, arms wrapped around his stomach.

He looked down at where he was certain he'd left his clothes, and Richard finished dressing and started out of the room, CJ following. Nick was tiptoeing behind them.

"Nick," Alejandro said, and Nick froze.

"Hmm?" Nick answered innocently.

"Where are our clothes?"

"Why would I know?"

"Nick!" Chris yelped. "Where are my_ pants?"_

"I don't know. Oh, look, they already took the costumes to be washed; I guess you two will just have to sit around in here until they turn up. Bye!"

"Nick, where are our _clothes?"_ Alejandro repeated, grabbing Nick's arm.

"I don't… know?"

"Nick, damn it, I'm cold!" Chris whined. "I just want to go to bed, come on. This is stupid. What is it with you lately, anyway?"

"Nick, where are our pants?" Alejandro asked quietly.

Nick sighed. "You might try looking on top of those cupboards over there. I mean, I don't know. That seems like somewhere something could get lost."

Chris and Alejandro exchanged glances.

"Well, uh… Damn it," Nick mumbled. "CJ!" he added, as he hurried out of the room. "I told you this one wouldn't…"

The door shut out the rest of the sentence.

Alejandro sighed and glanced over at Chris, then looked away quickly.

"So, someone's lost his mind," Chris said.

"No kidding. Uh… I'll get our clothes."

"Thanks."

Alejandro hoisted himself up to find their clothes (and to his annoyance, his were no longer even folded) up on the very top shelf, and tossed them down to Chris.

"So why do you think…?"

"I don't know," Alejandro said. "He's probably just bored."

"Yeah. Well… Okay. Jeez, I'm freezing."

They dressed awkwardly and silently, and didn't talk to each other for the rest of the night. Though they did both make a point to glare at Nick.

* * *

Alejandro nervously walked into the kitchen of the hotel, holding a card. It was printed and not signed, though he was pretty sure he knew who it was from (both allegedly and in reality), and he wasn't quite sure what to expect.

One of the cooks pointed him over to a table, which had clearly been set up just for this. There was a single rose in a glass vase and a white tablecloth. He sighed.

"The guy who set this up—did he have a baby face? Kind of brownish skin?"

"He paid me not to say, that's for sure."

Alejandro groaned and slid into one of the chairs at the table, and tried not to watch the door, but sure enough, a few minutes later Chris walked in, looking confused.

"Alejandro?"

"This was not my idea."

Chris shrugged and slid into the seat opposite Alejandro. "I figured, yeah."

There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence in which neither of them could seem to look the other in the eye. Alejandro cleared his throat.

"So," he started, "um. It would seem that Nick is trying to set us up."

"Yes," Chris responded, looking everywhere except at Alejandro, "that's my guess." They both fell silent as salads were placed in front of them. Chris laughed uneasily. "So, uh… Weird."

"Yeah."

"Where do you think he got this idea?"

Alejandro looked down at the table, feeling a dull warmth at the base of his neck. He knew exactly where Nick might have gotten this idea, and to be honest, he was somewhat surprised that Chris _didn't_ know. After all, the other boys all seemed to be fully aware of the fact that he still had a hopeless crush on Chris.

But he wasn't about to tell all that to Chris, so his only response was, "I don't know."

"Do you… think we can get him to stop?" Chris asked.

"I'll talk to him," Alejandro said, silently resolving that he was going to give Nick the lecture of a lifetime. "I – I can do that right now, actually," he added, starting to rise to his feet, but he was stopped by Chris's hand on his arm.

"Wait," Chris said. "I mean… That is…" Looking almost guilty, he let go of Alejandro's arm and gestured. "We might as well have dinner."

"Huh?"

Chris grinned a little bit. "Well, it would make him sad if we didn't. And besides which, I'm hungry."

Alejandro smiled back, though he could feel a muscle twitching at the side of his mouth. "Sure, why not? It's not like we're not friends, right?"

"Exactly," Chris responded. "Friends have dinner all the time, right?"

"Yeah. Friends eat dinner together. Though, uh… Usually not with a rose on the table," Alejandro said as he gingerly sat back down.

"Oh!" Chris snatched the vase from the table and looked around for a moment before setting it gently on the ground next to the table. "There. Nice friendly dinner."

"So…"

"Um." Chris stared at the salad and grabbed his fork. "The food looks good, huh?"

Alejandro smiled and nodded, but inwardly he cringed. It was going to be a very long evening.

"I wonder what the main course is?" Chris added, as he stabbed his fork into the salad, maybe a little too hard. Alejandro tried not to read anything into that, though. Probably Chris just felt awkward, too.

"I… I don't know," Alejandro said.

Chris laughed. "It was a rhetorical question. Why would you know? It's not like you helped set this up with Nick…" He trailed off, and shrugged. "Did you?"

"No," Alejandro answered defensively. "Nick has been driving me crazy with this stuff."

"Me, too." Chris shook his head. "Last week, he spent an hour showing me magazine clippings of you, shirtless. That was kind of… Odd. I mean, not that you're not… Not that I didn't think…" He shrugged. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," Alejandro nodded. "He and CJ started quoting love poems at me and asking if they made me think of anyone in particular."

"Did they?" Chris laughed.

Alejandro rolled his eyes. "They meant you."

"Well, obviously. But who did you actually think of? You know, when you think of love?"

Alejandro shrugged. "At that particular moment, I was entertaining fantasies of strangling Nick."

"Understandable. But you seem like… I don't know, you've never mentioned liking _anyone._ Or even thinking anyone was hot. Except for that date with… You know, except for that date you've never done anything romantic at all."

"I…" He trailed off. "What does it matter?"

"Just curious. Conversation. You know, since this is weird… I thought talking might be good." He cleared his throat. "I had a crush on every single girl who was on _Game On!_ and half the boys. After I hit puberty, I mean."

Alejandro laughed. "It would be kind of odd if you had a lot of crushes when you were nine."

"Well, when I was eleven I had a huge crush on Alexis—do you remember her on the show?"

"Yeah," Alejandro said. "I guess she was cute. I dunno. I don't really… Get crushes on girls."

Chris laughed. "Well, who was the first boy you liked, then? What was he like?"

Alejandro groaned. "It doesn't matter."

"No, come on. I'll keep it a secret, just you and me."

"You? Keep a secret?"

"Hey, I can keep secrets, I just usually… choose not to."

"Chris, I don't really want to… It doesn't matter anyway. I was just a kid."

"How young?"

"Chris—"

"Come on, please? It'll be fun. You don't have to tell me his name, just what he looked like. Why you liked him."

"Uh… Okay. I was… I guess eleven, maybe twelve."

"And you already knew you were gay?"

"When I started daydreaming about a boy, I figured it out pretty quickly."

Chris laughed. "So, tell me more."

"You sound like Nick, you know that, right?"

"Well, it's _fun._ And unlike Nick, I'm not insane."

"Um…"

"Alejandro, I'm just trying to make conversation. We're _buds._ Is that what they say in real life? Buddies? Pals?"

Alejandro stared at him. "Friends?" he suggested.

"Or that. See, we're friends. Tell me. It's _interesting,_ because it seems like it would take something major for you to really like someone, you're so… Level-headed. And I told you _mine."_

"Well, uh… it wasn't anyone I really knew. It was a guy on TV."

"Oh, anyone I'd have met?"

"I… I dunno." Alejandro took a long drink of water, wishing he didn't have to eventually put down the glass and talk again. He really wanted the conversation to just _end._

"Well, what show was he on?"

"I don't remember, just some stupid show I watched sometimes."

"Wow, okay, jeez. You're sensitive."

Alejandro sighed. "He was on TV. He was a little bit younger than I was, but I just _knew_ that he'd grow up to be… perfect."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Um… He was a pretty good actor, for a kid. Good at fake crying. But… funny, I mean, it was a comedy."

"Oh… yeah?" Chris said again, and Alejandro knew from his voice that he'd started to get suspicious, and he just wanted it to end. But Chris continued, "So what did he look like?"

"I… dunno… Kind of… little."

"You don't remember what show he was on or what he looked like, and he was your first big crush?"

"Yeah."

"Uh… Alejandro, you're a super genius, or did you forget that? I'm not stupid, here."

"I never said you were stupid."

"This boy… was he blond?"

"Chris—"

"Wore glasses?"

"Chris—"

"Maybe it was a variety show? There were a few of those."

"Chris, I really don't want to talk about this…"

"Alejandro, it's _okay._ I mean, it's kind of flattering."

"I never said it was you."

"Was it?"

Alejandro looked down at his salad. "Yeah," he said. "But that's not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"Chris, I just… I don't know. You were funny and talented and… _cute,_ and I was just some regular kid. I mean, I was just like all the fans you have now. I'd have done anything to meet you, but I didn't _know_ you. I didn't even really want to. I just wanted…" He shrugged. "I wanted you to like me."

Chris swallowed. "Uh…" he said. "Alejandro…"

"Whatever, it doesn't matter. I was just a kid."

"Okay, but you know I do like you, right? I mean, as a friend."

"Of course. And I like you, too. As a friend. I mean, I _do_ know you now, I'm not just some fan. It's different now."

"Yeah." He paused. "You realize you called me perfect?"

"Yeah, I thought you were perfect when I was _twelve."_

"Well, you are the super genius. Must have been a smart kid."

"Chris, shut up."

* * *

Nick was sitting on the couch watching TV when Alejandro got back to their suite. Chris had already headed for his room, and Nick didn't seem to have heard them come in.

He crept across the living room, stood directly behind him, crouched down so his mouth was right by Nick's ear, and announced quietly, "You are a dead man."

Nick yelped and jumped up, turned around, and gaped. "Oh my _god,_ you just about gave me a heart attack!"

"Which would have saved me the trouble of killing you."

"Oh, come on." Nick grinned at him. "I'm trying to do you a favor, buddy."

_"Don't_ call me that."

"Alejandro, come on. You and Chris would be perfect together, and you know that, I just wanted to wake _him_ up—"

"Nick, listen to me. You don't get to decide anything about me and Chris. You don't _know_ anything about me and Chris. And I don't like having my emotions played with, so knock it the hell off."

"You didn't have fun?"

_"No,_ I didn't have fun! I sat there awkwardly for an hour and a half with the guy I had a crush on for years, who _doesn't like me back,_ and we both knew that I liked him and he doesn't like me back, and what the hell do you _say_ to someone like that?"

"I thought that if Chris realized you liked him, he'd—"

"He'd what, stop being _Chris?_ He doesn't like me. He thinks of me as a… a _pal._ That was the word he used. That's the word you use when you're trying to nicely tell someone to get lost. So stay the hell out of my business from now on, _pal._"

Nick nodded. "Alejandro, I didn't mean—"

"Just _stop."_

"I will! I'll cancel the order of flowers… I mean, yes, I'll stop. I'm sorry. Alejandro, I really didn't mean it to be so bad… I just wanted to help. And make you happy."

Alejandro sighed. "I know. But it didn't work. So don't… just don't."

Nick nodded vehemently, and Alejandro trudged off to his room. He wanted to be

alone.

* * *

AN: Heeheehee. Popslash.


	11. Eleven

Eleven.

"Okay, this _blows."_

"Chris, stop whining, you're messing up my concentration," Richard said.

"No, you just suck," CJ answered, and followed it up with, "Take that! Ha!" As he managed to blow up Richard. Well, in the video game they were playing. Richard grumbled.

"Now, now, be nice. It's mean to kick a guy when he's down. By… several hundred points. Ouch, Rich, you _do_ suck."

"Shut up, Nick."

"I was trying to be nice."

"By saying I _suck?"_

"By not saying that I totally, um…" He paused. "Yeah, you're my bitch." Nick proceeded to blow Richard up again. Richard dropped the controller in disgust.

"You two are ganging up on me, I'm never going to get anywhere!"

"No we weren't," CJ said. "You just…"

"Shut up," Richard sulked.

"I didn't say it."

"You were thinking it."

"Oh, sweetie," Nick cooed, and reached over with one hand to pinch Richard's cheek. "You've loosened up so much! You haven't even thrown up in days!"

"Why are you in such a good mood?" Rich muttered. "CJ's kicking your ass, too."

Nick shrugged. "Naturally upbeat disposition."

"You freaking fairy," Richard added.

"Oh, don't be bitter." Nick turned his attention back to the game, and Chris cleared his throat.

"Um, could we get back to why _my_ life sucks, here?"

"You won't care if we ignore you, though, right?" CJ asked.

"You always do anyway."

"You're sulking."

"You can't see if I'm sulking, you didn't even turn around!"

"You're _always_ sulking. Anyway, life sucks, okay, go."

"Thank you. I can not believe—it's _July_ and I have _homework._ Homework!"

"No rest for the wicked," Alejandro mumbled from across the room, where he was staring down at a physics textbook.

"I'm _not_ wicked and I'm the only person in the country who doesn't get a summer vacation!"

"We don't get vacation," Nick answered.

"You don't have to deal with a tutor, either."

"Well, it's not our fault you're a baby."

"I'm _not_ a _baby!_ Come on, I'm still getting over the _Game On!_ cast, you guys should be nice."

"I think maybe we'd take you more seriously if you didn't pout and stomp your foot when you tried to convince us you're an adult," Richard said, smirking.

"Oh, go get blown up some more." He groaned. "I _hate_ math. I absolutely, positively, can _not_ stand this stuff. I mean, when the hell am I ever going to need to know what a function is? And how am I supposed to solve for a function when I don't know what it _does?_ I don't get this! And it's July and I should have a vacation, but _no,_ Weisel says I'm too far behind in my classes and I'm only sixteen so I still have to… I just hate everything."

"That's nice," Nick answered, then, "Damn it, CJ, you cheat!"

"I do not, I just rock."

Alejandro looked up from his textbook and over at Chris, then back down. He'd tried to tutor Chris before, and knew how badly _that_ went, so he didn't say anything. But then again, he was also reading a physics textbook for fun; he had a diploma now, based on equivalency tests, and he hadn't really needed a senior year of high school anyway. But still, he felt gypped; he'd spent so long focusing on just school that not getting to graduate seemed unfair.

"F of X-plus-two is _eight,_ how am I supposed to solve for X?"

"It's six, Chris," Alejandro said, not looking up.

"What? Why?"

"The function of X plus two is eight. Eight minus two is six."

"But… Why does it have to be the function? Why can't it just be X? I only just figured out what X means!"

Alejandro sighed. "Do you really want my help with this?"

"No."

"Then don't ask."

Chris grumbled and began to work on his homework some more, muttering under his breath the whole time. CJ continued to beat Nick in the game, while Richard watched and seethed at them. Alejandro observed them all silently, impressed that they'd made it so far as a group. Two tours done, one album out—more than platinum. But sometimes, when they just hung out, it was hard to believe they were any sort of famous at all. They seemed so…

Well, not normal. Richard still had anxiety problems, and Chris was still… Chris. But being inside the band instead of a fan made it hard to remember that their fans really existed, that he was on an album and in magazines, that people paid money to see him.

Actually, he realized, they mostly paid to see Chris and Richard, but still, he and CJ and Nick were a big part of things.

He just couldn't believe how this all seemed _normal._ He'd never have imagined it.

He was about to turn back to his textbook (just because he wasn't in college didn't mean he couldn't get an education, he'd decided) when Weisel strode in.

"Play time is over, kids," he announced.

"Five more minutes, I'm just about done making Nick my bitch, come on!"

"Off, CJ."

"Yeah, _CJ_," Nick said, and turned the game off.

"Man, I had a new high score, too! You all suck."

"Whatever. Anyway," Weisel said, "we have a fascinating opportunity in front of us."

"Is this one going to kill me again? Because I'll get my mom to come visit."

"Chris, shut up. As I was saying, we have a choice in front of us—but a good one. Either way we go is… lucrative."

"So, spit it out."

"We have two very _lucrative_ acts setting up tours at the moment. They'll both be on tour through the fall—and either one would be happy to have you as openers. However—"

"Wait, huh, slow up." Chris crossed his arms. "I'm sorry, did you say _openers?"_

"Chris, shut up. The two choices are—"

"No, is the answer," Chris snapped. "Forget my mom, I'll call Rich's. We're not opening for anyone, we're not _openers._ People open for _us."_

"_As I was saying,"_ Weisel continued, ignoring Chris since trying to quiet him didn't work, "our choices are good, though both have advantages and disadvantages. The first offer we received was from the Uptown Boyz—"

"Oh _Christ_ no," Richard snapped.

"Hey, hear him out," Nick interrupted, earning him dirty looks from Chris and Richard.

"—or Shawna Rivers."

"What? No!" Richard yelled. "No, that's just… Bad to worse!"

"I thought you two knew each other as children?" Weisel asked.

"We _did._ Why do you think I don't want to do it?"

"I see. Well, be that as it may—"

"No," Chris said again. "I am not opening for anyone. I'm sorry, but…"

"But you are not the only member of the band, _young man," _Weisel scolded.

CJ cleared his throat. "Actually, we back-up dancers kind of agree."

"CJ, I didn't mean that—"

"Whatever, Chris, point is… Dude, we went platinum, we're not opening for anyone."

Weisel raised an eyebrow. "Shawna Rivers is currently preparing to release her second album; it's anticipated to do triple the business of her first—which is already more than twice _your_ sales. What were you saying?"

CJ groaned. "Okay, but… We still shouldn't be… Uh…"

Chris jumped in. "We shouldn't be opening for anyone, it makes us look like we're desperate, and less than the Uptown Boyz—and I swear I'll quit if you try and make us—"

"You are under contract until you turn twenty, Chris."

Chris scowled.

"_I'll_ quit," Richard snapped.

"You are _all under contract_ to Pulitzer Inc, none of you can quit, so stop threatening. Richard, I'd call your mother anyway. I was being generous in offering you boys a choice, however if you're unwilling to cooperate—"

Alejandro cleared his throat. "We'd like to choose," he interrupted, and everyone stared at him. "Our first choice is neither."

"You don't _get_ that choice."

"Let me finish. Our first choice is neither because in opening for either of the two acts, we lose publicity—we aren't the stars, and people aren't coming to see _us._ If we open for the Uptown Boyz, it makes us look like we're their wannabe clones; if we open for Shawna…" He trailed off. "We'd still be losing the spotlight. And we're never going to build the fanbase and following you keep talking about if we're not in the spotlight."

Weisel smirked. "Kid, don't go into entertainment."

"I already _am_ in entertainment, Mr. Weasel."

Weisel glowered, and everyone else snickered.

"My point was, you don't take our opinions seriously. The press already accuses us of being puppets, of having no real talent of our own. And you tell us to deny it—but then refuse to take us seriously. So how are they wrong?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter what's true, Bumlets. What matters is what you tell the press is true. And don't forget that."

Alejandro narrowed his eyes, and everyone else watched silently, sensing that Alejandro was their best chance at winning the fight. "The press already thinks we just do what we're told. Me smiling for cameras won't change that. But me refusing to answer questions will certainly get them thinking."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Do you feel threatened? I was just having a friendly discussion about our upcoming options."

Weisel snorted. "Yeah, well, you've still only got two choices. Shawna or the Uptown Boyz. But since you're _such_ free thinkers, I'll let you decide which one. And to make sure you know what you're getting into, Mr. Pulitzer is throwing all three groups a party. Formal dress, end of the week. I'll expect your answer the next morning."

He strode out of the room and everyone sat in silence, and then finally turned to stare at Alejandro.

"Holy _shit,_ Alejandro! Holy… Oh my god!"

Alejandro shrugged. "I resented his attitude."

"So you fucking mopped the floor with him? That was amazing!"

Chris snorted. "What do you mean he mopped the floor? We still have to open for one of them. He didn't do anything except get Weasel all pissed off."

Alejandro looked down at his textbook and didn't answer, but Nick jumped in.

"Actually, from the sound of it, he was about to tell us all that we didn't have any sort of choice, since you three were so adamant about this. Alejandro at least made him _think_, and he got us the choice."

Chris scowled. "It doesn't matter anyway, and now Weisel is pissed."

_"I'm_ pissed!" Alejandro snapped at him. "I was defending your point, you moron."

Chris stared at him. "Did you just… Did he just call me a moron?"

"Well, if the shoe fits…" Richard mumbled.

"Hey!"

"Okay," Alejandro said, interrupting again. "Chris, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that you're a moron. But if you were to think about it, I was making the same point that you were. The only difference is that I didn't sound like a spoiled brat."

Chris glared at him, and Alejandro picked up his textbook. "Anyway, who we open for doesn't matter to me. If it was up to me, I'd be getting ready for college about now. But I'm here, so I'm going to do whatever I can to make sure this goes well."

He left the room, and there was another quiet. Finally, Nick said, "I think Alejandro's all grown up now."

"I think Alejandro is…" CJ trailed off. "I mean, he doesn't get mad, does he?"

"He's been mad at me before," Nick answered. "He got over it when I apologized."

Chris shut his math book. "Do you guys really think I sounded spoiled?"

"Chris, you really want an answer?" Richard asked.

"You're just as bad as I am."

Richard shrugged. "At least I _see_ reality and know that I've gotten it all distorted. Sometimes, I don't think you do."

"Okay, well…" Chris was quiet now, looking almost thoughtful. "Well, I mean. If you guys really think I sounded _so_… distorted. I mean, then maybe I'd better… I guess I could say I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Nick said. "That might be a good idea. Besides, now that we know that Alejandro can kick some ass when he wants, I think we might want him to be on _our_ side."

"He should use his powers for good instead of evil," CJ agreed. "If it wasn't for those pesky contracts, I'm sure he'd have us on the cover of _Rolling Stone_ by now."

Chris mumbled something under his breath, and stalked out of the room. He found that Alejandro was in his room, sitting at his desk and staring at his textbook. Chris watched him for a few seconds and saw Alejandro finally shove it across the desk and bury his head in his hands.

Chris cleared his throat. "Uh… Alejandro? Can I come in?"

Alejandro looked up abruptly. "If you want. Whatever."

Chris closed the door behind him and pointed at the bed. "Can I sit?"

"Sure."

Chris sat, and hesitated, and fidgeted. "Uh," he finally said. "Look, uh… Okay, I suck."

"Chris—"

"No, come on, please let me finish. I don't know how to say… I mean, you're right, I am kind of… spoiled. And you did do a really good job down there, and you sounded so professional, compared to me. Like I was just throwing a temper tantrum but you were really concerned with the band."

Alejandro shrugged.

"So, anyway… I'm sorry for not… For acting like… You know, right? I don't

know how to say it."

"Yeah," Alejandro said, letting out a deep breath. "It's okay. And I really don't think you're a moron, I just…"

"I know. I… Do you really wish you were in college now? Instead of in the band?"

"I dunno. Sometimes."

"I guess we need you more than you need us. I mean, without you… we're screwed. No bass singer, and you're the best dancer, and you're the smartest. I mean, you really did just about kick Weasel's ass. But none of us could just walk away from all this, like you could."

"Chris, I won't," he said. "I don't… Quit. I just hate that we're barely even a _band._ We really are just puppets."

"Yeah." Chris shrugged. "I guess I just never felt like that because it's all I've ever been. Like he said, Pulitzer owns me until I turn twenty. And he had to buy out my contract with Face Forward. I never even thought of it that way."

"Well, I guess this is just the way it works."

"Yeah."

Alejandro shrugged. "Thanks for coming to talk to me, though. I really don't think you're spoiled—"

"Yes, you do. I am." Chris shrugged. "That's why it never bothered me to be a puppet."

"Well, you don't have to be one forever."

"Nope, just for almost four years. Honestly, I'm not sure what else to be."

Alejandro gave him a wane smile. "I'm sure you'll think of something. You wouldn't have gotten this far if you weren't really talented."

"Thanks." Chris smiled. "Anyway… I guess we should probably go try to calm Rich down… He and Shawna _hate_ each other, did you know?"

"I didn't."

"Yeah, they always have. It was hilarious, at least, the rumors were. They had to kiss when they were kids on TV together, and apparently Rich insisted on spitting as soon as the shot was over."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, but he accidentally spat on her shoes."

Alejandro laughed.

* * *

Richard glanced at his friends as they got out of the limo, and he had to admit it: they looked good. Even CJ, who still looked like a faux-skater boy even at the best of times, managed to look classy wearing a tuxedo. Nick looked like he'd been born in one, though, and every single girl they passed stopped to gape. Whereas Alejandro looked like he was a little uncomfortable, but anyone who liked 'tall dark and handsome' would probably develop an instant crush.

Chris, however, left everyone else behind. He had all of Nick's confidence and all of Alejandro's class, and his usual fake smile seemed more real when he was dressed up. And he had charisma—it was so easy to forget about that when you knew him so well that it didn't work anymore, but Chris positively reeked of charisma. Every eye was drawn to him, and that was more than alright by Chris.

Richard felt vaguely dirty thinking that Chris was attractive, but it was the truth and there was no getting around it. He could only imagine that Chris's ego knew that, too.

They walked inside and to a private room, where the tables hadn't yet been set, but there was an open bar. Not that they were twenty-one, but at a private function, no one really cared.

Shawna Rivers was wearing a red dress and standing by the bar, holding a pink martini in one hand, and observing everyone who walked by. Her hair was done up in elaborate curls and her dress left very little to the imagination. Richard gulped. He'd seen her videos, of course; he'd known she grew up to be attractive, but he hadn't seen her up close since they were kids.

She raised an eyebrow at him coyly.

"Go get 'er, tiger," CJ mumbled, and pushed Richard forward. He stumbled but caught himself, vowed vengeance, and walked up to the bar, doing his best to look like he was ignoring her.

"Vodka tonic, please," he requested, and the bartender nodded and turned away to make the drink. He glanced at Shawna and smiled. "Good evening, Ms. Rivers."

"And to you." She sipped her martini. "It's been a long time, Richard."

"It has."

"That reminds me." She took another sip and then swirled her drink slightly, and he waited. She glanced up at him, smiled, and tossed the contents of her glass in his face. Then, as if nothing had happened, she set the glass down. "Can I get another when you're free?" she asked the bartender, and stalked down to the other end of the bar.

Richard reached for a napkin and began to wipe his glasses clean. He saw Chris walk up next to him, recognizing him by the blond hair, as he couldn't see anything more detailed.

"That could have gone worse," he noted, and Chris nodded. Richard mopped the remaining gin off his face, and replaced the glasses.

"Your drink, sir," the bartender said, managing to keep his face remarkably straight. "It appears as if you'll need it."

CJ bounced up behind them. "Hey, keep on your toes. The Uptown Boyz are in the lobby."

"Fabulous," Richard said. "I have a better idea. Why don't the Uptown Boyz open for the Ice Queen, and leave us out of it?"

"Because we're puppets," Chris sighed, and saw that the bartender was free, having handed Shawna another drink. "Can I get a screwdriver?"

The bartender frowned. "Can I see your ID?"

"What! You didn't card anyone else!"

Richard glanced down the bar and saw that Shawna was watching them, but as soon as she saw him watching her, she looked away.

Before he had a chance to wonder about that, the Uptown Boyz entered the room. They looked good too, also wearing tuxes and dressed to the hilt, but something about them just seemed _greasier_ than the V-Tones.

One of them—Anthony—swept past him and to the bar, where he shot the bartender a smile, passed him a fifty dollar bill, and declared, "I'd like a martini, then a G&T with lemon, and then a shot of whiskey, and a rum and coke. Keep the rum coming all night. Thanks." He turned to Richard. "What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Good."

Richard glanced over at Chris, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

Ryan Ballatt, the one with the eyepatch, was standing at the edge of the room. He'd removed his jacket and loosened his tie, and looked rather uncomfortable, but was standing right next to a tray of cocktail weenies. Richard bit down a snicker, and watched as Nick walked over to take one of the weenies. He couldn't hear what was said, but it looked awkward. _Poor Nick,_ he mused, having already decided there was no way he'd make friends with any of those guys.

But if it was them or Shawna…

He shot her another glance and saw that she was talking animatedly to Jack, the leader of the Uptown Boyz, and smiling coyly at him. He snorted in disdain and took a gulp of his drink.

Alejandro was leaning against a wall, arms crossed lightly over his stomach, watching everyone else. Richard caught his eye and he nodded a little, shrugging. But before Richard could move on to watch someone else, he saw Jeremy Snodgrass, the strong but silent member of the Uptown Boyz, wander over towards Alejandro and extend a hand. Alejandro shook, and the two stood side by side, both looking a little uncomfortable, only occasionally exchanging words.

He looked over at Shawna again, just in time to see her reach out and put a hand on Jack's shoulder. He laughed at something and slapped a hand down on the bar; the bartender rolled his eyes and began making another drink. Richard took another sip, and next to him, Anthony was already on his third.

"In a bit of a hurry?" he asked.

"You blame me?"

"Not particularly."

"Alright then. I'm just hoping no one gets _killed_ tonight."

"You think this'll be that bad?"

"You ever met Sean?"

"Only… Only briefly."

"Ha." Anthony tossed back the rest of his third drink and reached for the fourth, already waiting for him. "Just you wait. He didn't want to come tonight. It'll be awful. With luck, I won't remember in the morning."

"Oooookay." Richard glanced over at the weenie table, and saw that Nick was heading off to the men's room. Ryan watched him go, and ate another weenie.

He heard loud talking from across the room and glanced over to see that Sean, who was quite loud for someone so skinny, had pulled Jeremy away from the wall where he was standing with Alejandro, and was heading towards the bar. Most of what he said seemed to be obscenities. He stopped to glance at Anthony.

"Drunkard."

"Asshole," Anthony answered evenly.

_"Don't_ you call me an asshole, at least I can hold my liquor."

"Yeah, but you're still an asshole. Richard, meet the asshole."

Richard glanced over at Sean. "Uh… It's Sean, right?"

Sean ignored him. "Excuse me? I can have you _killed,_ Tony. Don't tempt me."

"Go ahead. You'll save me the hangover. Cheers." He raised another drink.

Richard glanced around for help, now surrounded by Uptown Boyz, and failing to find any, he took a drink.

"Hey, dickhead!" Sean yelled down the bar. "Stop groping the competition!"

Shawna shot him a look of utter disgust, and Jack guiltily walked over to them.

"Thanks, asshole. I was going to score tonight."

Richard clutched his drink a little bit more tightly than was probably necessary. He glanced back at Shawna, and saw she was now talking with Chris, who had managed to work his way out of the knot of Uptown Boyz.

Jack followed his gaze. "Please, if you think a little kid is gonna show me up, you're stupider than Sean."

"Fuck you, Kelly."

"I have standards, asshole."

Anthony polished off another drink and commented, "See what I mean?" Jeremy rolled his eyes, probably in agreement.

Richard glanced around the room again, desperately, and saw that Ryan was now also heading towards the men's room, hurrying. Probably something wrong with the cocktail weenies, Richard decided, glad he hadn't had any.

"Excuse me!" a voice interrupted, and Richard gratefully turned his attention to the maitre d', who was standing by a doorway. "If you'll all step through here, the meal is ready."

"Thank God," Jeremy mumbled, and walked away briskly. Richard was inclined to agree with him, and followed suit. He could hear Sean and Jack snarling at each other behind him.

They were seated at a single long table, and, unfortunately, place cards were set up at each seat. Richard found himself seated between Anthony and Shawna. _Fabulous,_ he mused. _A drunk and a bitch._

Worse, he noticed, Chris was seated next to Sean, at the end of the table.

It started innocently enough; appetizers were served (Richard was starting to be a little concerned that neither Nick nor Ryan had reappeared), and Chris reached down the table, past Sean to grab the salt.

"Excuse me?" Sean snarled.

Chris blinked. "I only need it for a second."

Sean glowered at him until he set it down, then snapped it up himself and deposited it on his other side, out of Chris's reach. Chris stared at him for a second, then shrugged and went back to his own food. Richard wished Chris was close enough to kick under the table.

"Hey, where's Ryan?" Jeremy asked, glancing down the table.

"Bathroom," Richard answered. "So's Nick, they both ran off in a hurry. I think it was the cocktail weenies."

"Nah," Jack said. "I had a couple, they were fine."

"Huh." Richard shrugged. Odd.

Down the table, Chris refilled his water glass and set the pitcher down next to his plate, between him and Sean. Sean glowered at him and moved it. Chris gave him a baffled look.

"Fuck you," Sean mouthed.

Chris stared at him, then glanced down the table to see if anyone else was watching. Only Richard seemed to have noticed, and he shrugged, so Chris shrugged back. Richard was proud of how non-hostile Chris's reaction was.

Next to him, Anthony groaned. "You think they'll bring us food soon? I need another drink."

"How are you not _drunk?"_ Richard asked incredulously.

"You live with these guys, you build up a tolerance pretty fast."

"Okay… I see."

"Sean's gonna kill your boy down there, you realize that, right?"

"Did Chris do something to him?"

"He exists. And is nearby. I have yet to figure out any other reasons for Sean's temper."

"Great." He glanced over at Shawna, who was sipping her water, looking bored. "If I ask you how your day was, will you promise not to throw your water at me?"

"I wouldn't count on that," she answered, and went back to pointedly ignoring him. He rolled his eyes.

"She kinda hates you, huh?"

"I accidentally spat on her shoes, once. I was _twelve,_ and apparently, she holds grudges."

He got a sharp elbow in the ribs from Shawna, who hadn't even turned around. "Oops," she said innocently, over her shoulder.

"Bitch," he answered.

"Dick."

He rolled his eyes, and Anthony snickered. She turned to glower at him. "Go get wasted, asshole."

"Trying my hardest, sweetheart."

She made an irritated noise at that, and looked indignant. Richard decided to try and not get caught between them if they spoke again; he had already had one drink dumped on him and didn't want to get caught in any crossfire.

Down the table, Chris reached for the salt again, and Sean stabbed at his hand with a fork. "Ow!" he yelled. "Hey!"

"Problem?" Sean snarled.

"You just stabbed me!"

"Here we go…" Anthony mumbled.

"You didn't say _please,"_ Sean yelled at Chris.

"About what! I didn't ask you for anything!"

"My _point."_

"What!"

Sean smirked at him, and Chris glared back. "Can I _please_ have the _salt?"_

"Hm. No."

Chris glowered and reached for it anyway, and Sean stabbed at him again, and Chris pulled his arm away and knocked over both of their water glasses in the process.

"I swear, we can't take him anywhere," Alejandro mused from the other end of the table. Jeremy laughed weakly.

"Chris, can it," Richard snapped.

"I didn't do anything!" He grabbed a napkin and tried to stop the water from dripping, and when he'd managed to mop most of it up, glanced down the table and not-so accidentally dropped the wet napkin on Sean's lap. "Oh, sorry. I wasn't looking."

Sean threw the napkin in his face. "Me, neither."

"You should have a drink too," Anthony mumbled in Richard's direction. "You'll need it."

"No, he shouldn't," Shawna hissed. "He throws up."

"Yeah, you bring out the urge to puke."

She tossed her hair over her shoulder defiantly.

The waiters came in with trays of food. Anthony grabbed one by the sleeve and ordered another six drinks. Jeremy rolled his eyes, and Jack outwardly laughed. "Whatever. Assholes," Anthony muttered.

"Excuse me, that's my fork."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it's not."

Chris stared incredulously at Sean. "I don't have a fork. You have two forks. _You_ do the math."

"Are you accusing me of lying?"

"I'm accusing you of stealing my fork!"

"Well, I'm saying I _didn't,_ do you want to make a big deal about it?"

"I want my fork!"

"So what if I did take it? What're you gonna do about it?" Sean taunted.

"Sean—" Jack called from down the table, and received the middle finger in response.

The waiter appeared with several of Anthony's drinks. He handed one to Richard. "On me. Cheers."

"Thanks." Richard took the drink, deciding that he probably _could_ use it.

"Look, you're being ridiculous," Chris said. "It's just a fork, it's not worth getting pissed off about!"

"I'm not pissed," Sean answered.

"I am!"

Sean snorted. "So? I should care because…"

"Because… I… Give me my goddamn fork!"

Sean stood up abruptly. "Try and _take_ it," he snarled.

Chris stood up too, and Richard noticed abruptly that Chris _did_ seem older now, or at least taller. Or at least, Sean was short enough that Chris didn't look like a little kid next to him.

"Give me my _fork."_

"Make me."

Chris actually started to lunge at Sean, but suddenly Nick was there, having come in from the bathroom. He pulled Chris back and planted himself between Chris and Sean. "What just happen—"

Sean shoved Nick out of his way and started for Chris, but by now everyone was paying attention and Jeremy had rushed to the end of the table and grabbed Sean's arm. Sean pulled free and Jeremy lunged forward to grab him again, and Jack hurried over to help. Chris, who wasn't quite sure what was going on, decided to grab his fork off of Sean's plate, and Sean started swearing and Chris looked like he might actually take a swing at him, but Nick grabbed his arm and dragged him down to the other end of the table.

"Chris can take my seat," Nick said.

"_And_ your fork?" Alejandro muttered.

"What? What did I miss?"

Ryan walked in from the bathroom, his tie now completely undone and his shirt unbuttoned and slightly untucked, with his jacket under one arm. "Hey, guys, what's going—"

"Fuck you _all,"_ Sean shouted and turned to storm out of the room.

Ryan blinked. "Was it something I said? I thought he was still mad at Jeremy."

Still standing next to Sean's seat, Jeremy shrugged. "Who can even tell anymore?"

Richard glanced back toward Shawna. She was still seated, sipping her drink, and looking utterly disgusted with the whole lot of them.

"I see you haven't matured any since you were twelve," she commented.

"I didn't do anything!" Richard exclaimed.

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes. "That sounds familiar."

Richard felt a muscle next to his mouth twitch. "Look. I was _twelve_. I'm _sorry_ about your shoes."

"Was kissing me really _that_ bad?"

"Shawna, you were _ten_!"

"Are you saying I wasn't attractive at ten?" she countered.

"I'm saying you were pre-pubescent at ten." He paused. "Why? Did you _want_ to kiss me?"

She turned away again, but he distinctly heard her muttering something that sounded like, "Men are such idiots."

The remainder of the meal passed relatively without incident. Chris still glared around the table, but mostly kept his mouth shut. Both Nick and Ryan seemed to have recovered entirely from their food poisoning (or whatever it was that had sent them both to the bathroom), Anthony finally got drunk enough that he no longer cared where he was, and Shawna spent the night flirting with Jack, but every time she did so, she looked over her shoulder to make certain that Richard was watching.

When the desserts were brought out, Richard heaved an audible sigh of relief. Desserts meant that the end of this fiasco was drawing near. Next to him, Shawna shot him an unreadable glance, and pulled her piece of gooey chocolate cake closer.

Richard blinked. "Are you going to eat _all_ of that?"

"Are you calling me _fat_?'

"Perish the thought," Richard said mildly. "After all, you're Shawna Rivers, and I'm male and have a pulse. Thus, I am too tongue-tied to even attempt to insult you."

She smiled coyly. "So you're saying that you _do_ find me attractive?"

"I don't find you… unattractive."

Shawna laughed and tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

Richard wasn't sure he liked the look on her face. It was as though she were a cat licking its lips and sizing up a hapless mouse.

* * *

"So," Chris stated, looking around the table at Nick, CJ, and Alejandro, "I cannot work with Sean."

"It wouldn't be working _with_ Sean, it'd be working _before_ Sean."

"CJ, shut up. The _point_ is," Chris continued, "Richard isn't here, so he doesn't get to vote. I'll take his vote. And our two votes are no, no, _no_, we are _not_ opening for… for _him_."

"Wow, taking this a little personally, huh?" Alejandro commented.

Nick cleared his throat. "Well, I, uh… I wouldn't mind opening for the Uptown Boyz." The only response he got was three separate sets of glares, so he shrugged, looking slightly sulky.

"Yeah," CJ said, "that Shawna is a stone-cold _fox_. Better her than, um, what happened last night."

"Ditto," Alejandro put in.

Just then, Richard stumbled through the door, looking exhausted.

"Good morning," CJ said cheerily. "And did we have a _nice_ night, Mr. Greensmith?"

"None of your business," Richard replied, but he didn't sound very angry.

"Is that still your tuxedo shirt?" Alejandro asked. "And your tuxedo pants?"

Richard glanced down at himself. "Looks like it."

"So… who _did_ you go home with last night?" Nick asked. "I mean, the Uptown Boyz are totally gay."

"None of your business," Richard said again, and pinched Nick's cheek. "Oh," he added, "by the way, my vote's for Shawna. I'm going to go get some sleep now. 'Cause I didn't last night. Bye!"

And with that, he stumbled back out of the room, and the other four guys stared at each other. No one commented. No one needed to.

* * *

AN: This chapter probably shouldn't amuse us as much as it actually does. But man, the dinner scene made us cackle aloud, like, six times. This story is remarkably self-indulgent like that.


	12. Twelve

**Twelve.**

Chris stared contemplatively at the bookstore. They had been given full access to a mall, which was pretty much devoid of people. It was temporarily closed to the public for security reasons, while Shawna and the band did some recreational shopping, and overall, it was kind of creepy.

"You feeling okay?" CJ asked.

"I don't know when the last time I was in a bookstore was."

"That's because you're illiterate." CJ grinned.

"I am _not!_ I just don't read… much…"

CJ raised an eyebrow.

"Shut up. I should have gone with Nick instead of you. You're no help!"

"Yes, but if Nick knew you were shopping for Alejandro's birthday present, you'd have to deal with… Nick."

"Point." Chris glanced around. "Where did Shawna and Richard go?"

"Last I knew, they were groping in Victoria's Secret. It was kind of disgusting, and kind of hot."

Chris shrugged. "I'll take your word for that." He still had a hard time picturing Rich and Shawna together, though by all accounts they were quite happy. And it was nice to have some extra space on the tour bus, as she seemed to keep him chained to the bedpost a surprising amount of the time. When they _did_ see him, he tended to be both exhausted and very smug.

"So you're gonna buy him a book?" CJ asked.

"Well… He's _smart._ What else do you buy smart people?"

CJ stared at him.

"What? He doesn't care about clothes and he doesn't play video games or anything. He watches movies, but DVDs are what you buy your _brother,_ you know?"

"I thought that we were all like brothers… Isn't that what we keep telling reporters?"

"CJ, shut up."

"So you're saying you don't love us. I see how it is."

"CJ, shut up. And help me find a book for Alejandro."

"How is buying a book better than a DVD? Books are boring."

"But _he_ likes them."

"They're all full of… words. Except picture books."

"And you called _me_ illiterate. Let's go."

CJ shrugged and followed Chris into the store. "You look _cheap_ when you buy him a book."

"He got me a math book and a calculator."

"Because you're dumb." CJ smiled.

"Right, well, he's not. So I'll get him…"

"An encyclopedia?"

"I was thinking of a _fun_ book, actually." Chris stared at the titles at the front of the store, under new releases.

"Alejandro doesn't like fun things, he likes geek stuff."

"He's _not_ a geek."

"Um… Okiedokie."

Chris scowled. "He's not a geek, he's just smart. He's _cool."_

"Yeah, that's what he is."

"Are you saying you don't think he's cool?"

"Hey, I'm not saying anything!" CJ said, holding his hands up in a gesture of innocence. "What I'm saying is, _you_ think he's cool."

"…Yes…"

"No, that's all I'm saying. Who do I look like, Nick?"

"You sound like him. Okay, how about…" Chris picked up a book and regarded it. _"The Collected Sonnets of William Shakespeare."_

"You're both very gay and very in love, aren't you?" CJ mused.

"What? Shakespeare's a smart person thing!"

"Ahem." CJ picked up the book and leafed through it, and began to read aloud: _"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…"_

"Okay, so not love poems. Um…" Chris looked around desperately. "_Gone With The Wind."_

"You really want to have this end up with, 'Frankly, my dear Kristoff, I don't give a damn.'?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You really have _no_ culture. It's another love story. And this one's an unhappy one."

"Oh." Chris picked up the next book on the shelf without looking, and CJ glanced over his shoulder.

_"Bridget Jones' Diary?_" he laughed. "Chris, quit while you're ahead."

Chris dropped the book. "Fine! What do _you_ think I should get him!"

CJ shrugged. "Well… I mean, I do think you're on the right track, with books. Because you know he likes to read… And that says something, you know? That you care enough to think of what he likes. That's what you need, is to find something that makes it clear you were thinking of _him_ when you got it."

"What did you get him?"

"The restored DVD of _Gone With the Wind."_

"Remind me again why I'm friends with you?"

* * *

"Hey, guys! Band meeting!" Chris declared, striding into the room.

"What's up?" Alejandro asked, looking up from his book.

"Oh… You're here. Um, band discussion in my room! Not you."

Alejandro blinked. "What?"

"I mean, um… Not you. I don't want to… interrupt your reading. Yeah."

"Well, if this is something about the band…"

"It's not! I mean, it is. I mean, it's about my costume, which I hate, but you hate it when I complain about that stuff, so you sit here and read and everyone else come with me. Okay? Great!"

He grabbed Nick's arm and CJ and Richard followed him into the hallway.

"That was subtle," Richard said.

"Shut up, Mr. Rivers."

Rich smirked. "I'd change my name for her."

"I bet you beg like a dog for her, too. That's not what I want to talk about." He ushered everyone into his room and shut the door. "So, Alejandro's birthday is in two weeks and it's the last week of the tour, right? And it's his eighteenth birthday, so it has to be special!"

"Couldn't find a book, huh?" CJ asked.

"Shut up. I want to do something nice for Alejandro for his birthday."

Nick squeaked, and then put a hand over his mouth. "What?" he asked, when Chris glared at him. "I didn't say anything!"

"You were thinking it. This isn't anything like _that._ It's just… I mean, Alejandro does everything for everyone around here. We don't even have to ask and he just _does_ stuff. Like taking care of me when I was sick and dying. And we owe him anyway for jumping in when Johnny quit, and we'd be nowhere without him. So I wanted to do something really cool for his birthday."

Richard blinked. "That's uncharacteristically nice and unselfish of you… and mature… and… did I mention nice?"

"Bite me," Chris answered, and Richard kicked him. "Anyway, I was thinking about what it is that Alejandro actually _likes._ More than books. And what would be really special and… I mean, we've been on tour for _months_ now. And I was thinking, you know, he misses his family a lot. And even though we'll be home the week after his birthday, it would still be really great if they could get out here and actually see a show and spend some time with him."

Now Richard was gaping. "Who are you, and what have you done with Chris?"

CJ laughed. "I, for one, welcome the new alien version of Chris."

"Shut up! I'm serious! So… what if we all chipped in for plane tickets and hotel rooms? I mean, if his parents were here on his birthday, and especially his sister, he'd just about die. I think."

"I think that's kind of brilliant," Nick said. "And just… so _sweet._ Chris, baby—"

"Nick, shut up."

Nick shrugged. "I promised to be good and not do anything, but the two of you… I mean, this _is_ the sweetest thing you've ever done for another human, and—"

"Are you in, then?"

"Of course."

"Ditto," CJ said.

Chris looked at Richard, who nodded. "I, uh, kind of got distracted when we went shopping. I forgot to look for a present. So…"

"You and Shawna need some form of hormone reduction drugs." CJ shook his head in wonder.

"No, I don't think so. I think things are good just as they are. Very good. One might say, very good _indeed."_

"I suppose Shawna's hot, for a girl…" Nick mused. "And you two are _quite_ the hot couple. You're in every magazine."

"Weasel keeps saying he's proud of me." Richard shuddered. "I hope to god he means for the publicity."

"Okay…" Chris said. "I'll call the plane and the hotel where we'll be and stuff and see how much it's going to cost. Okay?"

Everyone else nodded, and there was a pause, then, "So, I'm supposed to go meet Shawna. Not that I don't love you all and all, but, yeah. Bye."

"Drink milk, Rich! I hear it's good for your bones!" CJ called after him.

"That was unnecessary," Nick said to CJ, who shrugged. "But, I have to go call… call my folks, I told them I'd give them a call. 'Night."

"Maybe we should fly _his_ family out for his birthday, too," CJ mused.

"Well, Alejandro's is first. So… whatever." Chris shrugged.

CJ raised an eyebrow. "Not to sound like Nick or anything, but you really have never even _considered…?"_

"Considered what?"

"You've never looked at Alejandro and, uh… You know, he's kind of hot. _I'd_ tap it."

"Don't say that!" Chris yelped. "We're talking about _Alejandro Cortez_ here. He's got groupies and he's still a virgin, and if you think he'd let _you_ near him…"

"Whoa, back off, stallion," CJ laughed. "I'm not saying I'm planning to seduce him or anything; I'm not _Wayne._ But you have to admit, he's a pretty hot guy."

"Yeah, so?"

"So… He's a hot guy who's been half in love with you since he was twelve."

"He's over that." Chris shrugged. "We're like brothers."

"Yeah, of course. Definitely brothers."

"What?"

"You just… Didn't sound too thrilled about being Alejandro's _brother,_ is all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

CJ rolled his eyes. "You know what? Now I know why Nick was so frustrated with the two of you. You're very dumb."

"What?"

"Chris. If it was _my_ birthday, would you have cared?"

"I got you a birthday present!"

"Right, and I appreciated the DVD. Which is what you get your _brother._ And for Alejandro, you not only are dropping the cash for it, but you actually spent long enough thinking about it—about him—to come up with a birthday present which will probably make him cry with joy. I'm your brother. Alejandro? Not so much."

Chris rolled his eyes. "CJ, you're hallucinating."

"Suuuure I am." CJ chuckled. "Anyway, I'm going to go make Alejandro play a video game for awhile."

"Why?"

"It keeps me entertained. Have you ever heard him say 'motherfucker'?"

"No!"

CJ shrugged. "I didn't realize he _knew_ words like that. And he swears like a pirate in Spanish. I spent hours looking up everything he said."

"Wow."

"He's hot _and_ bilingual. Yeah, I'd tap it." CJ dashed out of the room before Chris could react.

* * *

Chris stared down at the figures he'd come up with and shook his head. Unless the calculator Alejandro had given to him was broken, there was something very wrong with this picture.

Plane tickets across the country were expensive, but it wasn't on a holiday or anything. It wasn't even a _weekend._ But the round trip tickets were still five hundred dollars a person, and two hotel rooms for several days for where their band was booked ran almost two hundred bucks a night per room. And even if Rosalia shared a room with her parents, it was still about two thousand bucks for Alejandro's parents to spend three days, and over fifteen hundred for just overnight.

Which worked out to five hundred and thirty dollars for each band member to pay.

And Chris checked his bank account and discovered he had a measly two hundred dollars in it. Which made no sense; sure, he'd never gone over his expenses on tour, but he was also a member of one of the most successful bands of the year. Their debut album had gone platinum, they were on their third tour (which was selling out every venue, including some downright _huge_ places). And their other merchandise—dolls and trading cards and he was pretty sure he'd even seen V-Tones themed _chapstick_—must have been licensed.

So where the hell was the money from it all?

He frowned again. More importantly, he couldn't pay his chunk of the money for the trip, and even if the other guys were willing to pick up the slack—if _they_ had the money—he'd wanted it to be… _his_ present. Even if that was kind of selfish of him.

The other guys were coming in to discuss it in a minute, and he wasn't sure what to say—no matter where he tried to cut corners, he couldn't find a way to get cheaper airfare. And he wanted it to be a nice trip for the family, so he didn't want to leave them in some horrible shack of a motel.

They filed in, and Chris turned around. "Where's Alejandro?"

CJ looked a little guiltily. "You know that textbook he's been lugging around for the last week?"

"Yeah…"

"He doesn't know this, but it's locked in the filing cabinet in Weisel's office. It'll take him an hour or two to realize I hid it."

"What's your excuse for hiding it, when he asks?"

CJ shrugged.

"CJ?" Nick prodded.

"It's not my fault he's good at everything! He beat my high score! He deserves it!"

CJ sulked until the laughter died down.

"Okay, well, if he's not suspicious… Guys, we've got a problem. This is _expensive."_

"So?" Richard asked lazily. "We should be able to afford it."

"How much money is in your bank account right now?"

"I dunno."

"Check." Chris nodded to the laptop he'd been using. "For real, check. Because I haven't spent all that much, and I'm _broke._ And I don't remember getting paid on this tour yet."

"So…" Richard began to check. "Worst comes to worst, we ask Weisel to give us an advance."

"I already _did,"_ Chris said. "I went in and I talked to that horrible, disgusting old man."

"And?"

"'Sorry, kid, that ain't in your contract.'"

"What?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. But it's in our contract that we don't get advanced any money on tours in case we get sick and have to cancel shows or something."

"Well, that's shitty." Rich checked his bank account. "I'm _broke._ I mean… I have a few hundred, but…"

Nick and CJ exchanged glances. "I think that's about what I've got."

"Yeah… I was counting on getting an advance."

"This _sucks,"_ Chris muttered. "So what do we do about the present? I mean, there's no way we can get two thousand dollars together without an advance. And I don't want to go to our parents… I mean, Rich, your mom…"

Richard rolled his eyes. "She hates Shawna, did you know that?"

"I didn't. Anyway, back to _important_ things, what do we do?"

"Well… uh…" Nick hesitated. "I mean, his birthday's in the middle of the week, maybe his parents wouldn't have been able to come anyway… And Rosalia will have school, so… Maybe it wouldn't have worked anyway?"

"Come on! For his birthday, they'd come! Wouldn't they?"

"I think they would," Richard agreed. "They seemed pretty close."

"We could… offer to do… half?" CJ said hesitantly. "If they can pay half?"

"That would take all of our money," Richard said. "If not still _more._ Damn it."

"Well, I'll give my two hundred!" Chris snapped, frustrated.

"Chris, chill," Richard said. "If we can't, we can't… We should call and ask them, anyway. In case they _can't_ come." Something in his voice implied it would be a relief if they couldn't make it.

Chris nodded, sulking, and reached for the phone. Everyone else sat around as he dialed and waited.

"Hello? This is the Cortez residence," a high pitched voice said.

"Hey… Rosalia?"

"Hello?"

"Guess who," he said, grinning to himself.

"I… I don't know…"

"It's Chris."

She squeaked loudly on the other end of the phone, then said, "I, oh! Hi, Chris! How are you?"

"Hey, I'm fine. How're _you?"_

"I'm good. Um, did you, I mean… Um, did you want to talk to… Mom and Dad? Is Alejandro okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine. He's great, really. He says he misses you a lot. He's, um, reading right now. Can I talk to your dad?"

"Okay. Daddy!"

Chris winced and held the phone away from his ear while she yelled, though he couldn't help smiling.

"Dad's coming! I'm glad you called, Chris! I saw you on MTV today!"

"Oh yeah? What did you think?"

"You were _great."_

"What'd you think of your big brother?"

"Oh… He was okay too, I guess."

Chris laughed a little, and her dad picked up. "Hello?"

"Bye, Chris!"

"Bye, Rosalia. Hello, Mr. Cortez. Uh, good evening."

"To what do we owe the pleasure, Chris?"

"Umm… It's kind of a long story."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah! No, it's nothing bad. Nothing at all. Actually, it's good. Except for the part that's bad. I mean…" He trailed off. "It has to do with Alejandro's birthday. I wanted… I mean, the guys and I waned to do something special, so we… we wanted to fly you guys out for his birthday so you could be with him, but, uh… Our plans aren't going so well."

"What's wrong?"

"Well… Uh…" He hesitated. "It's kind of embarrassing, but… we don't have the money for it. And when we're on tour we can't get an advance on our salary from the tour… we want to talk to our manager about it again, I mean, this is pretty… dumb… of him…" He wished he was a better speaker, but he was only used to talking in interviews. "But we'd still really like you to come… I mean, it's expensive…"

"Well, how much are we talking about?"

"Uh… We can put together about… About half? About a thousand. But the tickets and the hotel and all…"

"Two thousand? That's a little steep."

"I _know!"_ Chris said. "I'm really sorry and we wanted to be able to cover it all and if you guys don't want to we understand but we wanted to ask. Because Alejandro… I mean, he misses home a lot."

"Yeah, lay it on thick," CJ muttered.

"Shut up, CJ!" Nick hissed.

Chris explained the breakdown of airfare and hotels, while Mr. Cortez listened, and he sighed. "Well, it falls in the middle of the week—we'd have to arrange to get days off. And it's certainly a lot of cash, if you can't get an advance, and a very expensive present altogether. We appreciate the thought, but…"

"It's okay," Chris said. "We understand. We just wanted to…"

There was a murmur on the other end of the phone, someone talking off of the speaker, then, "Hang on a second, Chris," and more hushed conversation. Chris waited, until finally Mrs. Cortez picked up.

"Chris, hello! We're glad to hear from you."

"Thanks, ma'am. How are you?" he asked politely.

"Oh, frazzled with work, but we're just so proud of Alejandro and you boys. But Emilio has just explained the situation to me—it's very generous of you boys, you know."

"Well, uh… Alejandro means a lot to us. And we know you mean the world to _him._ So…"

"We do miss our boy. But I don't think Emilio and I would be able to make it—I have meetings all that week, unfortunately, and Emilio's work is quite demanding. But if you're still willing, I know a certain young lady who misses her brother terribly, and who just talked us into letting her take three days off of school."

"Oh… That would be great! I mean, one person for airfare, and hotel…"

"Don't worry about the room, Chris; I'm sure she could stay with her brother."

"Well, yeah, but…" He shrugged. "I mean, we'd be willing to pay for it."

"That would just be silly, she and Alejandro are very close; they shared a room until she was five."

Chris smiled at the image; he could picture Alejandro reading her to sleep every night.

"Well, that would be… excellent, I think," Chris said. "We could definitely afford that… If it's okay, I'll go ahead and book the tickets and all, and I can call you back with the flight information."

"That sounds great… Rosalia is jumping up and down, I think she'd like to say thank you."

"Okay—" Chris started, but was cut off.

"Thank you! Thank you Chris! Thank you thank you thank you!"

"Hey, no problem, cutie," he said, laughing. "I'll just go get your flight booked, okay?"

"Thank you! Thank you so much! Okay! Bye! Thank you!"

Chris hung up and glanced at the other three. "So… Rosalia's coming to visit," he said.

"Oh, is _that_ what the squeaking was all about?" Richard asked. "I could hear it from the other side of the room."

"Yeah, well… She's only eleven." He shrugged. "So we're only paying for the flight, I guess, so it's not that bad—"

There was a knock on the door, and then it was pushed open. "Okay, CJ, I give up. If it means that much to you, delete the high scores and I promise not to play anymore. Now _where_ the _hell_ is my book?" Alejandro paused. "And what are you all doing in here?"

"Talking," Richard said. "Um. About my sex life with Shawna. We didn't figure you'd want to hear. Boy, is it hot."

Alejandro blinked. "Uh… okay. CJ—"

"You'll never find it!" CJ cackled and bounded out of the room, and Alejandro dashed after him.

* * *

"Great show tonight, guys!" Alejandro said enthusiastically. "We were really on!"

"Yeah," Chris agreed. "Come on, change faster!"

Alejandro gave him a strange look. "Uh… Okay. Um, you've been kind of hyper all day."

"Yeah, well, I have my reasons! Hurry!"

There was a knock on the dressing room door and one of the security guards stepped in and noted, "Everything is all set up in the green room."

"Great!" Chris said. "Thanks! Awesome! Alejandro, hurry! Everyone hurry!"

"Mm." The security guard nodded. "The present seems to be a bit… impatient."

"Hurry hurry hurry! Is everyone ready? Okay, we're going!"

"Present?" Alejandro asked, as he finished pulling on his shirt. Chris was already bored of waiting and began to push him towards the door, with the other three boys following in various states of vague undress, still pulling on clothes. (CJ was hopping on one foot, trying to get a sneaker on while he moved forward.)

"Present!" Chris agreed. "Come on, it's not like we'd forget your birthday. Give us a little credit!"

"You guys didn't have to do anything…" Alejandro mumbled.

"Yes, we did," Richard said, slinging an arm around Alejandro.

"If nothing else," CJ agreed, still hopping, "to see the look on your face. Ow!" He tripped and fell against the wall, swore, and pulled on his sneaker.

"You're gonna love us so much," Nick agreed.

"Okay…" Alejandro said, as they reached the green room door.

"Ready?" Chris asked, and Alejandro nodded. He pushed open the door and Alejandro walked in, as Chris hit the lights.

_"Happy birthday Alejandro!"_

Rosalia launched herself across the room and Alejandro barely had time to react but still managed to catch her, his big brother instincts kicking in. He looked a little shocked, even as he picked her up and spun her around, dropping her on the couch before noticing an oversized cake on the coffee table next to it.

"Oh, my god," he said, sounding shocked. "Rosalia… You're _here._"

"I know! I had to be on a plane for ten hours all by myself because it was so late taking off and then they circled around in the air like a million times, and then they sent a _guard_ to meet me at the airport! But I got here in time for the concert!"

"I can't believe you came!" he said, leaning over to tickle her, a giant smile lighting up his face.

"Stop it!" she squealed, twisting away. "Have cake! I wanted to bring a cake that Mama baked but they said it wouldn't go on the plane too well."

"I'll bet not," he said, and finally looked over at the four other band members, who were standing quietly inside the room, watching. "You guys did this?" he asked.

They all nodded, and he was still smiling an impossibly wide grin.

"No one has ever done anything like this for me before," he said.

"Alejandro, cake!" Rosalia insisted.

"Yeah, I—one second." He was still staring at the other four.

CJ coughed and pointed at Chris. "His idea," he mouthed.

Alejandro stared at Chris, who shrugged, and looked down at the floor.

"Chris…"

"Yeah, well, it's your birthday."

"I'll bet _Chris_ wants cake!"

"I sure do!" Chris agreed, sounding a little relieved to have something to do. "You want to cut it, Alejandro? We couldn't find any candles. By the way, she's staying in your room."

"Excellent," he said, and ruffled her hair fondly. "Shouldn't you be in school, squirt?"

"Mom and Dad let me out for the rest of the week! I can stay until Sunday!"

Alejandro wrapped her in a giant hug again, but he looked up at Chris, who was busily setting out plates on the coffee table.

"Chris…" he said quietly.

"Whatever. Happy birthday. Cake!"

"Cake!" CJ repeated, and bounded across the room.

* * *

Alejandro knocked on Chris's door, and Chris opened it, not sure who to expect, but pleasantly surprised. Chris was already wearing his pajamas—striped pajama pants and an old t-shirt—but he clearly wasn't asleep yet. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Alejandro said. "Can I…"

"Yeah," Chris said, standing aside to let him in. "Happy birthday," he added.

"Thanks. Chris, I…" He stared at Chris, who sat down on his bed, and gestured for Alejandro to sit next to him. Alejandro sat, a little awkwardly. "I mean… Jeez, I don't know what to say. Thank you."

Chris shrugged. "It wasn't just me, you know, we all went in on the tickets and all…"

"CJ told me you put in all your money."

"I guess. Whatever, I'm just glad you're happy. Because we wanted your whole family to come, but we couldn't afford it, so… I hope that this is good enough."

"Chris, it's fantastic."

"Okay… Good. Where, uh, is she?"

"Asleep. I gave her my bed, I figure we can trade off taking turns on the floor…"

"I can take a night, if you want." Chris shrugged. "If you're tired or something. It's your birthday present, after all."

"No one has ever…" Alejandro trailed off. "I don't think… I mean, I think you're… You're the closest friend I've ever had. I didn't realize I meant… I meant so much. To everyone. To you… To everyone."

"You do," Chris said, turning slightly to stare into Alejandro's face. "To everyone. To… To me. And everyone."

"Look, Chris, I just don't want—I don't want to be thinking the wrong thing… And I know I am." Alejandro inched slightly away. "But it was still really nice of you."

Chris nodded. "I've just… I've never met anyone like you, Alejandro. You're really… You're so amazing. You always think of other people before yourself—you just _do_ it, without thinking. And I just wanted… I mean, we all appreciate it."

"You didn't have to do anything for me. I like… I like being there for people."

Chris swallowed. "I think I do too," he said. "I'd never really tried it before, though."

"That's a pretty good start."

"Uh… Alejandro?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever…" He trailed off. "I don't know, I'm going to say something stupid. So don't make fun of me, okay?"

"Okay."

Chris stared down at his feet. "Have you ever met someone who you think of all the time? I mean, for no good reason. You just… Think about one person all the time."

Alejandro nodded, then realized Chris wasn't watching him. "I… I guess."

"Because… I mean, why? Why does it happen, I mean. Getting a person stuck in your head like that. Like a song."

"That's kind of poetic," Alejandro said quietly.

"But… _why? _Because I also love CJ and Nick and Rich, but… You're stuck in my head, Alejandro."

"Chris, I should go," Alejandro said, starting to stand up, but Chris grabbed his sleeve and he sat back down. "I should go…" he said again.

"If you want to, you can," Chris said. "But I don't want you to. I like having you near me. I like… I liked seeing you smile like that, today. I don't know why, but I feel better with you. Like you're something _real_ when so much of my life is fake. You're real, and I want you around, because you… You make me feel _real._ Like a person and not just…" He shrugged. "I don't know, I'm just babbling."

"What does this mean?" Alejandro asked.

"I don't _know,"_ Chris said, frustrated. "I just know that you're… You're the song that's been stuck in my head for months now. Longer maybe. But it's like I never learned the words, just hummed along, and now I know it by heart."

"Chris…" Alejandro said, his voice almost breaking. "You've been stuck in my head since… since I was twelve."

"Even when I was horrible to you?"

Alejandro nodded. "I… I wouldn't have joined if anyone else had asked me."

Chris slowly slid his hand across the bed to brush his fingers against Alejandro's. Not quite holding hands, but touching gently. They both stared down at their hands, seeing the play of light and dark skin together.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Chris finally said. "I just know that when you were happy tonight—it made me happy. And I want to feel that… I want to feel it all the time. I want to make you happy all the time."

"Chris…" Alejandro breathed, and moved his hand so their fingers were interlocking.

Chris smiled at him. It wasn't his usual semi-smug smirk, or fake smile for cameras, it was just a quiet, almost shy-looking smile.

"Can I kiss you?" Alejandro asked. "That would make me happy."

Chris nodded, and Alejandro leaned in, not letting their hands separate, and gently brushed his lips over Chris's.

"Was that okay?" Alejandro asked.

Chris leaned over and kissed Alejandro, his heartbeat speeding up as he felt Alejandro's gentle lips against his, felt their hands together, felt Alejandro's skin. He stared into Alejandro's eyes.

"It was okay," he said softly. "Happy birthday, Alejandro."

* * *

**AN**: Is it a bad sign when your own fic makes you swoon? I need to go carry Leah off to get the smelling salts…


	13. Thirteen

**Thirteen.**

Rich was in a good mood, even though it was a travel day, and travel days sucked. All day long spent on a moving bus, trapped with four other boys, was not exactly the most fun thing in the world. And it was as exhausting as doing a show, somehow. Probably from dealing with everyone all day.

CJ and Nick were talking, as they sat around for breakfast. Nick handed Rich a menu so they could get room service before they took off. They only had an hour left, though—not a lot of time for eating and hurrying out the door. He called in an order of scrambled eggs and toast, since sitting on the bus all day was also not great for his stomach and the less he ate at breakfast, the better.

"You're up early," CJ noted cheerfully. "Lately, we haven't seen you until we're on the way out the door and Shawna remembers she has to return you."

"You're jealous," Rich answered.

"Absolutely," CJ agreed. "She's hot."

Nick rolled his eyes. "There's more to liking a person than being hot," he scolded.

"Not when said person is Shawna."

"Hey!" Rich objected. "There's more to her than…"

"Tits?"

"CJ, shut up."

"What did I say? She's got a great rack!"

"CJ!"

"What? Every other breathing male in the country can say so, and I'm not allowed?"

"Shawna is also a really _interesting person,"_ Richard snapped.

"How would you know? You never get out of bed."

Richard was about to reply, but Chris wandered into the room, still looking tired and wearing his pajamas. "Hey," he said, smiling a little as he automatically ordered French toast and coffee—it was what he always had for breakfast.

"You look like you're in a good mood," Nick noted. "Happy dreams?"

"Something like that." Chris grinned at him, and Nick raised an eyebrow.

"Someone smuggle in a groupie when we weren't watching?" CJ asked.

"Something like that," Chris repeated.

Everyone exchanged looks. "Chris? Uh… What's up?" Richard finally asked.

"Nothing. I'm just in a good mood. A great mood, really. Have you looked outside today? It's beautiful."

"It's overcast and freezing out."

"Well, you say potato. Is Alejandro up yet?"

"I think he's showering."

"Cool."

"So, um," Nick said, "_why_ are you in such a good mood?"

"I'm not allowed to be in a good mood?"

"Early in the morning on a travel day? History would indicate that no, you are not," CJ said. "So what gives?"

"Nothing," Chris said.

Alejandro and Rosalia strode into the room, Alejandro's hair still damp from the shower, and still buttoning his shirt.

"Morning!" Rosalia chirped.

"Hey, cutie," Chris answered, but he was looking at Alejandro, who blushed and glanced away.

"Uh, 'morning," Alejandro said and picked up the phone. "Rosalia, what do you want for breakfast?"

"Um…" She looked at Chris. "What did you have for breakfast, Chris?"

"French toast." He nodded. "The only way to go. We're still waiting for it, actually."

She turned to Alejandro. "I'll have French toast," she declared.

"Yeah, okay." He coughed. "Me, too." He called the kitchen to place the order, and sat down next to Chris, much to Rosalia's dismay.

Richard raised an eyebrow. "So, how're you this morning, Alejandro?"

"Uh, fine. Good, actually. Great." He ruffled Rosalia's hair. "It's great having her here."

Chris gave him a slightly odd look, one Rich wasn't sure how to interpret. "Yeah, uh… Good. I'm glad you're happy."

"I'm really happy."

"I'm glad."

Richard glanced over at CJ and Nick, who were also watching the exchange, a little confused. "So…" Richard said. "It was a good birthday, then?"

"It was amazing." He smiled, but stared down at the table, still blushing. "It was the best day of my life."

"Wow, you're easy to thrill," CJ noted.

"CJ!" Nick hissed and hit his arm.

"What?"

Alejandro laughed a little, and Chris smiled at him, and Nick stared at both of them. But Alejandro didn't look up.

Finally, Chris reached out and tentatively put a hand on Alejandro's shoulder. "Uh… Everything _is_ okay, right? I mean… You're happy?"

Alejandro looked over at him finally, at a loss for words. He nodded.

"Well… Good, then." Chris pulled his hand away and awkwardness hung in between them.

Nick was now gaping at them. "CJ?" he said quietly, and poked CJ in the ribs.

"Ow! What?"

Nick didn't say anything, just nodded towards Chris and poked him again.

"What?"

Nick added a cough to the gesture.

"What!"

"CJ!"

"What? If you're talking about those two giving each other dopey looks, yes, I noticed."

"Are we giving each other dopey looks?" Chris asked, trying to sound amused, though Richard was pretty sure he was forcing it.

"You're giving him dopey looks and he's blushing."

Rosalia watched the conversation, looking confused. Alejandro glowered at Nick. "Can we discuss this _later?"_ he snapped.

"Oh!" Nick squeaked, and clapped a hand to his mouth. "There's something to _discuss!"_

"You are so gay," Chris sighed.

"But I'm not the _only _one," Nick answered in a sing song-ish voice.

"Damn it, Nick, shut up!" Alejandro snapped.

"Alejandro is gay," Rosalia said. "But he doesn't swear usually."

"Oh, god." Alejandro half-buried his head in his hand. "Don't tell Mama, okay?"

"She doesn't like it when you swear."

"That's why you shouldn't tell her."

"I'm not going to _lie."_

"It was only a little swear word, Rosalia. It's one of the okay ones for grownups to say sometimes."

"You're not a grownup," she scoffed.

"I _am_ eighteen."

"You're a dinosaur," Chris said, and Rosalia giggled.

Richard watched, bemused by how uncomfortable Alejandro looked at all of this, but even more curious. Because if things were what they seemed to be, something important had definitely happened between Chris and Alejandro. And while everyone had seen it coming—even if Rich hadn't been as blatant about it as Nick, he'd noticed—there was a lot of potential for trouble down the line. He wondered if anyone else had thought about that.

But judging by the stars in Nick's eyes, the smirk on CJ's face, and the still remarkably dopey looks that Chris and Alejandro were giving each other, he doubted it.

* * *

The bus had pulled up in front of the hotel, and there was a whole rope line of screaming girls outside, which Chris could see through the window. He was waiting casually—well, trying to look casual—for Alejandro, hoping he'd be alone. Chris wanted to talk to him, to make sure everything was okay. He'd been acting really oddly at breakfast, and if there was something wrong…

Chris didn't want to think about that. So he leaned against the wall and waited, but luckily he didn't have to wait long. Alejandro walked around the corner a few seconds later, with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hey!" Chris called out, and Alejandro walked over to meet him.

"Hey," Alejandro said quietly, smiling.

"I, uh… Is everything okay?"

"What?"

"Everything. Between you and me. Is it… okay?"

Alejandro looked a little surprised, and kind of nervous. "I… I thought it was. Are you okay?"

"I'm great. I just wanted to make sure we're… on the same wavelength. We _are,_ right?"

"Well… I haven't stopped adoring you since last night, so…"

"Oh, good! Me neither. About you, I mean." He laughed nervously and shot Alejandro a grin, and Alejandro smiled back and set down his duffel bag. "I, I just noticed you seemed a little out of it at breakfast so…"

"Well, you know, my sister's here. It would have been weird to… to be so blatant in front of her. And the other guys already have a habit of minding everyone else's business, so…"

"Okay. I can be subtle." Chris nodded.

"No, you can't." But Alejandro grinned. "I kind of like that about you."

"Well, uh…" Chris shrugged, not sure how to answer, but Alejandro grabbed his hand and tugged him back over to the wall. Chris smiled as Alejandro leaned down to kiss him quickly.

"Good morning, Chris." He grinned back. "See, I couldn't do that at breakfast, with Rosalia there."

"Okay, I got it. Good morning." Chris kissed Alejandro and wrapped an arm around him, and was oblivious enough to the rest of the world that he didn't notice Nick squeak and hurry by so as to not interrupt them.

He was also oblivious enough that he forgot to keep an eye on the hallway and didn't notice Rosalia walking up, backpack in tow, until it was too late.

"Rosalia!" Alejandro yelped, pulling back quickly. "We were just—I just—I—"

She was gaping at them. "Alejandro?" she murmured.

"Oh, god. Um, there's… There's no really good way of putting this, is there? Uh… See, what just happened was, Chris and I… We…"

"See," Chris said, interrupting, and crouching down so he was eyelevel with Rosalia, "the thing is, you said it at breakfast—Alejandro's gay. You understand that, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, me too. And, uh, Alejandro and I are together. I like him a lot."

"You do?" she repeated, sounding stunned. "Why would you like my stupid brother?"

"We, um, should talk about this on the bus," Alejandro said, and reached for his bag. "But don't say anything until we get in the bus, okay, Rosalia?"

"Okaaaay," she said, still sounding unsure.

Chris picked up her backpack and Alejandro took one of her hands, and led her outside. The fans started screaming and normally Chris would have waved and flirted with a few of them, but today he just wanted to get to the bus to explain things to Rosalia. Because if she was upset, Alejandro would be _really_ upset, and Chris didn't want to mess things up between him and his sister. Though he did still smile and wave, and so did Alejandro.

They piled on to the bus and sat down in the middle section, which was supposed to be something like a comfortable living room, but was really just cramped because of the table that shouldn't have been there.

"So…" Alejandro said. "Uh… Rosalia? Are you okay?"

"I'm _fine,"_ she pouted.

"You don't sound fine."

She scowled. "I'm _fine._ I'm gonna read for awhile. You can go away if you want."

Alejandro looked a little bewildered at that. "I… I don't want to go away. I want to hang out."

"With _who?"_

"With you. You're my sister. And you sat in a plane for ten hours to come visit me."

"Fine." But she still was pouting.

"If you're upset, we should talk about it, Rosalia." He glanced up at Chris, who was sitting across from them, looking on with concern. "I don't want to upset you."

"I'm not upset!"

"Ooookay. Do you wanna… put on a movie or anything?"

"No."

"Do you want to talk?"

"No."

"Do you want to play video games? CJ's got a lot of them."

"No."

"Rosalia, come on. This is your vacation, you should have fun. What's wrong?"

She looked over at Chris, then back at Alejandro, and finally whispered, "You never had a boyfriend _before."_

"Well… No," he said. "I never met anyone I liked before, who liked me back."

"I liked you."

"Yeah, but you're my sister." He paused. "Is that it, Rosalia? You're still my _sister._ No one's ever gonna be more important to me. You come first, kiddo."

Chris felt a twinge of jealousy at that, which he knew was irrational, but which he felt nonetheless. But he was smart enough not to say anything.

"Promise?" she asked.

"Cross my heart," he answered, and she held up her pinkie. He nodded solemnly and they locked pinkies on it, and because he could, he pulled her into a bear hug. "Don't worry. You'll _always_ be my favorite."

"I missed you," she said. "I see you on TV all the time but I miss watching shows with you and you helping me with my math homework. Dad's not a very good helper."

"I know, he used to help me with mine. He's not very patient."

"Mama misses you, too. She records it every time you're on TV and she buys every magazine you're in. She keeps a giant book of them."

"I miss being home," Alejandro said. "So I'm really happy you're here."

"Alejandro…" she said.

"What?"

"I can't believe you took _Chris._ I liked Chris!"

"Well, I liked him _too._ I liked him first."

"Nuh uh."

"Yeah huh."

"Nuh _uh._"

Alejandro glanced up at Chris and smiled. "Well, I'm pretty sure I'm right, but who knows?"

"I know! I'm right!"

Chris cleared his throat. "This sounds like a family problem to me. I'll, uh, go hang out with the other guys for awhile."

"Bye, Chris."

"I baked him cookies!"

"Rosalia…"

Chris could hear them bickering in the background as he walked towards the back of the bus, but it sounded like they were mostly joking, now. He hoped.

He was greeted with a hug that was more of a tackle. "Chris! Oh my god! Chris!"

"What? Nick, get off me." He pushed Nick off of him. "Jeez, calm down."

"You like Alejandro! I knew it! I was _right!"_

"He's going to be insufferable, you realize that, right?" Richard sighed.

"I don't see why he should. It has nothing to do with him," Chris answered.

"It does so. I set you two up."

"Like, three _months_ ago, and you _failed."_

"But you must have thought about it this whole time!"

"Not… Not really."

"Please," Nick scoffed. "I rule."

"Yes, Nick, you're amazing," CJ answered, his voice monotone.

"You _know_ I am," Nick said, and fluttered his eyelashes at CJ, who threw a pillow at him. "Chris, spill the details now, please?"

"Uh… No?" Chris said.

"You have to. We've all been waiting for this! You two finally slept together, and—"

"Whoa, hey, no we didn't."

"What! But… What?"

"We… didn't sleep together," Chris repeated. "Not that it's any of your business, but we just… talked. And, uh, yeah. Mostly we talked."

"So you two are together now?" Richard asked.

Chris nodded, and grinned despite himself.

"Well… Congrats, then. I… guess…" Rich trailed off, and shrugged.

"But you guys can't make a big deal about it," Chris continued quickly. "Because Alejandro's not really… He's shy, he doesn't like it when people pay attention to him, so if you make him uncomfortable I'll kick your asses."

Nick squeaked again.

"Nick, knock it off." Chris rolled his eyes. "And _especially_ in front of his sister."

"Are you going to tell her?" CJ asked.

"She already knows. Uh… Yeah." Chris looked a little guilty. "Alejandro's trying to explain it to her."

"And she won't say anything to anyone?"

He shrugged. "Alejandro is smart enough to tell her that. I think."

"Things would look pretty bad if fans found out that you are not interested in any of them."

"Yeah, I _know._ Alejandro knows too. He's the smart one, remember? I just don't want his sister to be upset."

"That's so _sweet,"_ Nick cooed.

Chris tried to kick him from where he stood, but the bus chose that moment to finally pull out, and the sudden movement sent Chris careening across the tiny space and into CJ and Richard.

"Hi," he said.

"Get off me," Richard answered.

* * *

It was strange how quickly his little sister had managed to permeate every level of his life away from home. Well, Alejandro amended with a slight grin, _almost_ every level. With her gone – she'd left approximately two hours before, clutching her backpack and promising not to tell Mama and Papa that he'd sworn – his room seemed very quiet.

He'd been hoping that Chris would be able to come and spend some time with him; that would definitely have cheered him up. Unfortunately, Chris was busy being interviewed by _Seventeen_, and he'd been warned beforehand that the interview could take a very long time.

Alejandro would be playing video games to keep busy, but he'd promised CJ that he wouldn't anymore, so that wasn't an option. He could read a textbook, but frankly, at the moment, he was just a little too _down_ to read about wars and the like. Richard was being interviewed by _Seventeen_ as well, Nick was on the phone with his family – again – and CJ was off on a date, so the options for social interaction were fairly limited, unless Alejandro felt like going another round with Weisel. Which he didn't.

And so, it was a Friday night and Alejandro was sitting alone in his room, reading over his contract.

Something that Chris had said the other day, about not being able to afford plane tickets for his family, had stuck in his mind. After all, they were a fairly successful band; shouldn't they be able to afford plane tickets for three people? None of the other guys had seemed all that concerned about it, but Alejandro had checked his account, and had been more than slightly worried to find only three hundred dollars in it.

No one had been satisfactorily able to explain to him why none of them had _nearly_ as much money as they really should, so after Rosalia left, the first thing he did was print up a copy of his contract.

Reading through a contract, he reflected, was something like reading though the Constitution: it was written in legalese, not designed for the average person to comprehend. Luckily, a challenge was just the thing to take his mind off of the fact that, again, it was a Friday night and he was sitting alone, reading his contract. And he'd certainly debated the merits of pre-law when he'd been looking at colleges, and had taken a business law class in high school, before leaving to join the band. And he'd read books about lawmaking, so he was pretty sure he could work it out.

He frowned and circled a paragraph in red pen and moved on. The contract was long—pages. And a little depressing. Weisel kept telling them they were under contract and they had no real choices in what they performed, or where or when, and that was exactly what he was seeing. They were puppets, and Pulitzer Inc. owned them.

He made a note in the margin to check on some of the language about payment of services; it was pretty ambiguous and full of lawyer-speak, but it was an explanation of the pay scale they worked for.

He finished the contract and turned back to the beginning, opened Nick's laptop (graciously loaned, though Nick had shooed him out of his room quickly so he could get back to his conversation—and Alejandro thought he was close to _his_ family), and found an online reference guide to common legalese. After doing some quick translating, and looking it over a few times, he sat back, amazed, with a very clear idea of what was going on.

Pulitzer Inc. was screwing them.

* * *

"Chris!" Alejandro half-yelped as Chris and Richard came walking through the door.

"Hey, babe." Chris grinned and slid an arm around Alejandro's waist. "Miss me?"

"Yes, but I have something important."

"Can it wait awhile?"

"No."

Chris frowned. "But you said that after Rosalia left, you and I could take some… private time."

"And we will, but this is _really_ important."

"What's up?" Richard asked.

"Band meeting," Alejandro answered, and glanced at the door, almost paranoid. "In my room. Come on." He glanced down the hall, then called, "CJ! Nick! Come on, meeting!"

"I'm on the phone!"

"Still?" Alejandro wondered aloud.

"Come on," Chris called. "If Alejandro says it's important, it probably is."

"Yeah, yeah." A few moments later, Nick (looking grumpy from having been interrupted) appeared, and CJ followed quickly.

"It has to be better than my date," he mused.

"That bad?" Nick asked.

"No one can compare to you, Nicky. You've ruined me."

"I do what I can," Nick answered, and turned to Alejandro. "What's up?"

Alejandro ushered them into his room and shut the door. "We're being screwed," he said.

The others exchanged looks. "Well, what you and Chris do is your own business, but—"

Alejandro ignored CJ's comment and waved a copy of his contract at them. "I went through my contract today. I worked out everything in it, things I only skimmed and didn't bother understanding when I signed. We're being _screwed."_

"How so?" Richard asked.

"Well, aside from Pulitzer declaring himself the sixth member of our group and cheating us by taking a sixth of our share of the profits; if I'm reading our contract right, they're taking almost fifty percent of our profit directly."

"What?" Nick asked, frowning. "Can they do that?"

"It's in our contract, they can do whatever they want."

"Oh my god," CJ said. "That's ludicrous! I know the label needs to make cash off of us, but…"

"From my calculations," he pointed at the paper he'd been doing the math on, "we're barely breaking the poverty line."

There was a long silence, then, _"What?"_

"What we're making comes out to about minimum wage—in a progressive state with a high minimum. In some states, we wouldn't even be considered above the poverty line at all, and we're working more than full time."

"Jesus _Christ!"_ Chris snapped. "This is—it's—you're sure?"

"Pretty damn sure, yes. I went over it three times and triple checked my math."

"So… what do we do?" Nick asked.

"What _can_ we do?" CJ shot back. "If it's in our contracts—if we signed them—then there's nothing we can do until we renegotiate."

"There has to be something! How long until we renegotiate?"

"Four years," Alejandro said.

"Oh, fuck that," Chris said. "We have to be able to do _something."_

Alejandro shrugged. "I don't know. The contract is pretty… Pretty solidly written."

"So why did you sign it?" CJ asked. "You didn't bother to read it before you signed?"

"Did you?" Alejandro asked.

"Fair point. But you're… You're the smart one!"

"I had my reasons, okay?" Alejandro sighed, glancing over at Chris. "And we all wanted to make it. We'd have signed anything."

Richard nodded. "My mom would have, that's for damn sure. I can't _believe_ she…" Whatever he couldn't believe, his sentence degenerated into a frustrated growl.

"So what do we do?" Nick sprang to his feet and started pacing back and forth, his hands clenched into fists.

"Yeah," CJ said. "I mean, you took the time to read through this whole thing, you've gotta have _some_ kind of idea of… _something_ we could do."

Everybody watched Alejandro intently, and he shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.

"I'm not a _lawyer_," he said, frustrated. "I don't _know_. I barely had time to figure this all out before we all came in here."

"So…" Richard said. "You think we'd need a lawyer?"

"I think we should consult one, I guess. If there are any holes in the contract, I don't know enough to find them. And he might be able to tell us what we can do. I guess."

Chris reached for Alejandro's hand to reassure him, and Richard nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Can I use your phone?"

Alejandro nodded, and Richard reached for the phone and dialed quickly. "Hello? …Dad? Do you have a couple of minutes?"

* * *

Having Richard's mother _and_ his father in one place was a fairly stressful experience. Though his father seemed to be a fairly relaxed person on his own, as soon as Virginia stepped in to the room, he tensed and things got explosive. For his part, Richard was sitting between them, trying to keep them from yelling. He was used to it, though. It had been a full year of his childhood.

"So you're saying I've failed him as a mother, is that what you're saying?"

"I'm saying you failed him as a manager, Virginia. You failed him as a mother when

he started having panic attacks before he went on stage!"

"Dad, hey, calm down," Richard said.

"So you blame me. Typical. His emotional problems couldn't have had _anything_ to do with a father who was never there for him!"

"I wasn't there because you wouldn't let me be there!"

"Hey, Mom, Dad, come on. Please, let's just… talk business."

"Fine," his dad snapped. "In my professional opinion, you have a very lousy manager."

"John!"

"Well, what kind of a manager doesn't read her client's contract through when she signs it!"

"Okay, well, uh… What's done is done, so, um, if we could just move on from that and figure out a solution…" Richard pleaded.

"Of course, I'm sorry. You know how _she_ gets me."

Richard's mother made a disgusted noise but didn't say anything.

"Okay, we'll just… focus…" Richard said.

"The way I see it, the contract is unfair and exploitative. You signed it, but you did so naively and were both pressured and uninformed by the label of its exact terms. So there are grounds to sue."

"Sue?" Chris asked, glad that the squabbling was at least temporarily over.

"To get out of the contract and have it voided."

"We really would have to sue?"

"Well… yes," he said.

"What would happen to the band?" Alejandro asked.

"Well, if you lose, Pulitzer retains all of your trademarks and music—so you couldn't use any of your recordings, do any of your old songs, or even use your name. And I suspect he's got your faces registered as well, though I'm not sure he can actually do anything with that."

"Great. We can perform wearing _masks,"_ CJ said. "And singing _Mary Had a Little Lamb."_

"That's about the size of it, yes."

"What if we win?"

"If you win, you're free to set up a new contract with another record label, and you'll win the rights to your music, your album, and your faces. Of course, there's no guarantee that you'll win; the contract is well written and thorough. You should think this through and contact a lawyer who specializes in this—I can give you a few contacts."

"You wouldn't do it?" Richard asked.

"Call it creative differences with your manager. That _is_ the show biz term, isn't it, Virginia?"

"And in show biz, the term for lawyer is 'asshole,' but I shouldn't say that with the children around."

The boys exchanged uncomfortable glances, and Richard sighed. "Mom, he's not an asshole. Dad, she's not a bitch. I thought we got through that when I was twelve. And to tell the truth, you two screaming those things at each other at the top of your lungs every night was a pretty big fucking part of me having panic attacks, but hey, it was a long time ago. That's what the therapy was for. Can we please, _please_ be civil to each other for awhile?"

"Ummm… "Alejandro cleared his throat. "Why don't we go… talk about this… For awhile?"

Everyone else nodded quickly and hurried from the room, Richard only lingering for a moment before joining them. He looked totally demoralized when they gathered in Alejandro's room.

"I almost forgot what they were like," he mumbled. "Sorry about that."

"Hey, not your fault," Nick said quickly.

"Yeah, I know. Like I said, years of therapy." He shrugged, clearly eager to get off of that particular subject.

CJ was only too happy to oblige him. "So, what do we think?'

"About suing?" Nick looked slightly uncomfortable. "That's a pretty big step. I mean, what if we lose?"

"If we lose, are we really _that_ much worse off than we are now?" Chris replied. "We're nearly _broke_, guys. We're a band with a platinum album, and we don't even know if we can afford a lawyer!"

"But if we lose," Nick replied, "we'll have _nothing_. Not even our _faces_."

"We can't live like this," Alejandro said quietly. "Not for another four years. Not even for _one_ year."

Richard sighed. "I agree. We can't let Pulitzer get away with this."

"But… Is it _so_ bad? I mean… we don't have a lot of extra cash, but we have our house and we're totally paid for on tour…"

"…and the guy you ordered your Big Mac from this afternoon makes more money than you do."

"I'm not in this for the money!" Nick snapped.

"I am," Alejandro said, and everyone stared at him. "What? I want to support my family—when my parents retire, I want to take care of them. I want to be able to pay for Rosalia's college. I want to be able to pay for my _own_ college, when it comes to that. I love what we're doing, but I joined because I was told that would all happen. And boybands tend to be flash in the pan—after a few years, they fade away. If we haven't made any money when that happens, all I've done is waste time."

"Hey, we won't be flash in the pan," Chris said.

"You're doing this because you have to perform," Alejandro answered. _"You_ won't fade away. I will. I want to, eventually."

"Oh." Chris hesitated, then reached out for Alejandro's hand, almost desperately.

"Not for awhile," Alejandro added quickly, and Chris looked relieved.

Nick sighed. "I know that… I get what you're saying. But if we make it _worse…"_

"People will still know who we are," Richard said. "Even if we have to change our name…"

"And are forbidden from using any of the songs they love us for?"

"They love _us._ We can write new songs… We'd be able to write our _own_ songs if we wanted."

"Yeah," Chris said. "We'd get some freedom—we wouldn't be Pulitzer's puppets anymore."

Nick glanced at CJ. "I dunno," CJ said. "But on our last tour, when Chris was dying, according to our contract Weasel didn't have to cancel any shows. He did it out of the kindness of his heart. Which is not something I'd want to count on if _I_ ever get sick, because my mother doesn't kick quite so much ass."

Nick sighed. "I guess that's true."

"I think we have to do this, guys," Chris said. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been doing some thinking lately." He gave Alejandro's hand a squeeze. "And my whole life, I've always done whatever the managers said, but I'm sick of not getting to… to express _myself._ We don't get to be who we want to be, you know? Even if it's not about money—it's about principles, doing what's right. And _we're_ right. We're working hard and busting our asses every day, and Pulitzer's not doing anything but _allowing_ us to work for him. I want to work for myself."

Richard nodded, and Alejandro nodded. CJ paused, then nodded, and Nick sighed. "Well, if I'm outnumbered four to one, there's no real point in arguing, huh?" he said.

"Don't worry," Chris said. "We'll win. We _have_ to."

"Are we all in, then?" Richard asked.The four of them echoed back that they agreed, and he nodded again. "Then it's decided. We're going to take on Pulitzer Inc."


	14. Fourteen

**Fourteen.**

"You know what's odd?" CJ asked as he attempted to tie his tie for the fourth time.

"This whole situation?" Alejandro suggested.

"Well, besides that. It just seems weird that—damn it, this thing _won't_ tie—that we've never met Pulitzer. I mean, weren't we allegedly hand picked by him?"

"No, _Rich_ was hand picked by him," Nick answered, and sighed. "CJ, stop _fiddling_, you're creasing your suit. I'll get it."

_"Thank_ you."

Nick began to fix CJ's tie. "It's not that odd, is it? I mean, he's… busy. Right?"

"Busy doing what, exactly?"

"Stealing our money," Chris answered.

"Remember, we're not supposed to be _accusatory,_" Richard sighed. "We're supposed to look like nice boys who've been taken advantage of."

"We _are."_

"Yes, but we have to _look_ like we are. And since you're such a fantastic actor, Chris…"

"Yeah," Chris rolled his eyes, glanced in the mirror, and made his eyes go wide and said earnestly, "'We were just so eager to get started. We had no choice but to sign. We didn't know what we were getting into, we just wanted a chance so _badly.'"_

"Wow," Richard said. "That's… scary. You're really good at that."

"Despite what you seem to think, I _am_ a very good actor," Chris answered smugly.

"Alejandro, can you do something about his ego?" CJ asked.

"It's cute," Alejandro answered.

"You're _nuts."_

"He's adorable," Chris snapped.

"You're both sickening."

"You're jealous," Nick said. "Stop pouting and being lonely, CJ. You'll meet someone. Someday."

CJ raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were still single too, and _I'm_ the lonely one?"

"Well, I have a naturally cheerful disposition, and the fans just _love_ me."

"Hey," Richard interrupted. "We've got to get going. There're reporters outside, how do we look?"

"Hot," Chris said. "We always look hot. Alejandro, you look great in that suit."

"Thanks," Alejandro murmured, blushing.

"Now, you two," Nick scolded. "We're all very happy for you, even CJ when he's not being too bitter, but you need to pretend you're not madly in love for awhile. And if you don't stop holding hands, you'll look a little too… Gay."

"I think even holding hands, we're less gay than you are. Seriously, you're flaming, _how_ has no one noticed?"

Nick shrugged. "They assume I'm just friendly. When I pinch their asses."

"Please tell me you don't."

Nick shrugged. "Only the really cute reporters. And the _really_ hot groupies."

"You're going to blow your cover."

"And then I'd have every gay man in the country after me, how _awful."_

"Okay, kids, let's go," Richard interrupted, and began ushering everyone out the door.

"You sound like Weisel."

"Bite me."

"You sound like your _mom."_

"Drop dead."

"Now, that's better," Chris said, still smug, and Richard kicked him as they opened the door and reporters began flashing cameras and yelling questions.

* * *

"Hey, baby."

"Hey, Ryan."

"You sound tired. Everything go all right today?"

Nick sighed. "Pulitzer's not a very nice man. He said some pretty harsh things."

"Oh, babe, I'm sorry. How much longer are you going to be in court?"

"I don't even know. Forever. Until I die."

"I hope you're not planning on dying, Nicky, I'd miss you."

"I _do_ miss you."

"You're so sweet."

"You're sweeter."

"Is there anything I can do, Nick? You sound so sad."

"Oh, babe, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be sad, I'm always happy to talk to you. I'm just exhausted and stressed out. It's not easy having your name dragged through the mud."

"Well, if anyone tries to drag your name anywhere, you let me know. I'll kick their asses."

"You're so sweet when you're macho." Nick sighed. "You know… I mean, I know Sean thinks we're insane with this whole thing…"

"Yeah, but I'd ignore Sean's opinion on basically everything."

"I know that, I just… You should really look at your own contracts. I mean, Pulitzer's screwing us pretty badly, he probably is doing something to you, too."

"And the only one who's allowed to screw me is _you."_

"Exactly."

"I wish I was there to comfort you."

"I could use a hug," Nick agreed, and then there was noise in the hallway. He groaned. "Someone's coming, I have to go."

"Okay. Just remember I love you, babe."

"I love you too."

"Good luck in court tomorrow."

"Thanks. Goodnight, Ryan."

"'Night, babe."

* * *

"You know, I never thought I'd find flow charts and pie graphs hot," Chris mused.

Alejandro raised an eyebrow, then went back to work, filling in columns in the table he'd created. "It's the chart that's hot?"

"Nope. But when you're focused like that, I mean, wow." Chris laughed. "Am I bothering you? I can go… watch TV or something…"

"No, no." Alejandro looked up at him and grinned. "I like having you to keep me company."

"Oh, good. So, uh… What _are_ you doing, exactly?"

"Well, assuming we get out of our contract with Pulitzer, and assuming we get the rights to our own material, we're going to want a new label. And a new manager. I've been shopping around."

"And that's what this is?" Chris asked.

Alejandro nodded. "Side by side comparison of the options we've got—a bunch of variables I pulled out of our old contract. Licensing rights, performance fee, percent of album sales… It all adds up."

"Wow," Chris said. "I guess that whole math thing really worked out for you, huh?"

Alejandro laughed. "I guess so."

"Are there any really good candidates yet?"

"A couple—but I'm leaning towards Boogie, personally. They handle a lot of big pop accounts, including Shawna."

"They have good managers?" Chris asked. "Because I'm not asking for much, personally, just someone whose BO doesn't make me gag every time I have to shake his hand."

"Well, I'm setting up a meeting with one of their top guys in a day or two."

"You know, you could be our manager."

"The thought had crossed my mind." He shrugged. "But if I were performing _and_ managing—and I don't really know what I'm doing, most guys get master's degrees in this, I'm just out of high school—but anyway, if I were doing all of that, when would I have time for _you?"_

"Very good point," Chris agreed, putting a hand on Alejandro's shoulder. "Speaking of which, could I tear you away from that for just a _little_ while?"

"I think you probably could," Alejandro agreed, smiling up at Chris, who was sitting on his desk. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, you know, a little this, a little that… You looked really, really good in that suit."

"Yeah? What, you want me to put it back on or something?"

"No. Not even a little bit." Chris grinned and tugged Alejandro out of his chair.

* * *

Richard watched from down the hall as his mother shook hands with Weisel, and showed him out of the house. She didn't know he was watching; he didn't think she wanted him to. He was pretty sure something was up—she'd taken over Weisel's office, and he hadn't been seen outside of the courtroom since he trial had begun, so him showing up at the house was odd.

"Hey," Richard said evenly, as his mother turned around.

"Richard, dear, good evening."

"What was he doing here?" Richard asked, nodding towards the door.

"Just picking up some of his things," she answered smoothly, but something in her tone of voice alerted Richard. That was the voice she used when she talked to his father and didn't want to discuss whatever had been going on.

"Yeah? What kind of things?"

"Oh, files. The picture of his wife he left on the desk."

"Weisel's not married."

"Well, you know." She shrugged. "It's not as though I asked him about the picture, dear, that would have been rude."

"Letting him in to the house was rude," Richard said. "To _us._ What's going on?"

"Richard—"

"What's going _on,_ Mom?"

"Well, if you _must_ know, Mister Weisel and I were discussing business."

"What? What sort of business do we have with him anymore? We're _suing _him."

"You're suing Mister Pulitzer, actually, and your manager is very upset about it—but so is Pulitzer. No matter how things turn out, he won't look very good at the end. And neither will _you_ boys, it's very ungrateful to sue your own record label and management—"

"For exploiting us? That's not ungrateful."

"Well, it looks ungrateful. All we were discussing was the potential for a nice, out of court settlement."

"Ex_cuse_ me?"

"Richard—"

"No, wait, you were discussing what?"

"It might be very wise to—"

"And you didn't even ask _us?_ You're not our lawyer, Mom, and you're not—Jesus Christ, you're _my_ manager but you've got no right to do anything for the rest of the band, and—I can't believe you'd even think about settling!"

"Just hear me out, it's a good—"

"Did you already sign something?"

"No, but I think you should consider—"

"No!" Richard yelled, and he knew that the rest of the band was home and could probably hear him, but didn't care. "I don't want to make a deal, _we_ don't want to, and we don't want to hear what they have to say. Don't you get that? They were screwing us over, they were taking advantage of us, and what the hell kind of mother wants to settle with people like that?"

"I'm trying to watch out for your _career,_ Richard."

"Yeah, that's what you've always said," Richard snapped. "Since I was two years old, it's always been my career. You don't give a damn about _me,_ just about my _career."_

"Richard—"

"In my whole life, you've never once just been my mother. My _mother_ might have understood why we're suing to begin with, but _you_ want to settle because you can't just be my mother for three weeks, you've got to be my _manager_ and I never _wanted_ you to!"

She stared at him, quietly. He glared back.

"I wanted what was best for you," she finally said.

"Pushing me until I was so scared of screwing up that I'd rather puke than go on stage was good for me? Fuck you."

He turned and walked out of the hall and towards his room, and slammed the door. He heard the door downstairs shut, and heard her car pull out of the driveway, and didn't move until there was a knock on his door.

Dealing with people was usually _his_ job, so he didn't know who to expect, but when CJ let himself in, he was more than a little surprised.

"So, uh… you okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Okay." CJ shrugged. "Not to press you or anything, though, but… You did just curse out your mom."

"She had it coming."

"Granted, don't get me wrong, she's psycho. But usually you… um, you handle her a little better than that."

"Did you hear her? She wants to settle with Pulitzer—_settle."_

"Yeah, but she didn't have the authority to make that decision anyway."

"Then it's a good thing I reminded her of that before she started signing things."

CJ raised an eyebrow. "So, um, how much of this is about her settling with Pulitzer, and how much of this is personal issues from your childhood?"

"What?"

"Since we've known each other, you've never liked her, and I don't blame you, but… I mean, are we talking this is because you were pissed at her for talking to Weasel, or pissed at her for being a crazy stage mom?"

"Does it have to be one or the other?"

"Well, at the end it certainly sounded like the other."

Richard shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"Not to me, not to _us._ But I'll bet it matters to her, and probably to you."

"I don't care what she thinks."

"Then why does the thought of her being disappointed in you make you want to puke?"

"CJ, you're not my shrink, so—"

"Hey, it was just a question. Something for you to think about. Anyway, uh, I'm getting ready for a date, so I should go… do… that."

"Date?"

"Yeah, Nick's setting me up."

"Guy or girl?"

"He didn't actually specify. Huh." CJ frowned. "Sam can kind of go either way, can't it? I should go check on that."

"Yeah, you think?"

"Okay, well, uh… You should call your therapist and get a good night sleep and… Stuff."

"Thanks, CJ."

"That's what I'm here for. That and to sing and eat pizza. _Hey Nick!"_ He started for the door, leaving Rich alone with his thoughts.

* * *

"So, CJ, was your date a boy or a girl?"

"You know, I'm not actually sure."

"Didn't go well, then?"

"Not really, no."

"You want to talk about it?"

_"No."_

* * *

The band sat around the living room, with a folding chair set up in the middle. "That's gonna make him a little nervous," CJ noted.

"That's kind of the point," Richard said. "Isn't it?"

Alejandro nodded. "We're not going to get screwed again."

"A manager who understands roll on deodorant. That's all I ask," Chris said again.

"And one who doesn't make us open, tour malls, or perform twice in one show?" Alejandro suggested.

"See, this is why we keep you around."

"That and some other reasons, I'd hope."

"Okay, you two, the rest of us don't want to know," CJ interrupted. "When's he gonna _be_ here?"

"You sound like such a little kid."

"So? When?"

"Any time now. Calm down. We're professionals, remember?" Alejandro sighed.

"Yeah, and he's auditioning for us, not the other way around, this time," Richard said.

The doorbell rang and they all scrambled towards it, then took a moment to compose themselves. "Professionals," Alejandro reminded them, before opening the door.

The man who stood on the stoop was just on the young side of middle aged, with a brown suit on, carrying a briefcase, and wearing a bowtie.

"Bryan Denton, I presume?" Chris asked.

"Pleased to meet you," Denton answered.

"This way, please," Richard said, and they led him to the living room and gestured to the lone chair in the middle. He raised an eyebrow but sat and made himself as comfortable as he could, while they took the couch and easy chair facing him.

"So I'm sure you've been brought up to date on our current… situation," Alejandro finally said.

"Yes, of course. The whole industry is paying attention; it'll be quite a precedent you boys set."

"And what do you think of the lawsuit?"

"Well, generally speaking, I believe that all parties involved in a contract should carry out what they say they will—but in this case, I don't think Pulitzer Inc. did so. In addition to the extremely convoluted wording of the contracts, you were given false impressions of the label's intent."

Chris cleared his throat. "What's your policy on canceling shows?"

"It's a last resort when a performer can't perform, but only a last resort."

Chris shrugged.

"And who else have you managed?"

Denton had a list of several groups he'd worked with—none were as big as the V-Tones, but all of them were somewhat well known. "I have a list of references and numbers if you'd like to check on them."

"Yes, please," Alejandro said.

Richard cleared his throat. "Basically, what we're looking for in a manger is… We want someone who cares about the band more than how popular we are. Someone we can actually _trust_."

Denton nodded. "Considering your former manager, I can't blame you."

"Oh?"

"I've… Crossed paths with Mister Weisel before. He and I… Didn't quite see eye to eye on managerial techniques."

"So how would you describe your managerial technique, since you brought it up?"

"I expect my band to work their hardest; in return, they get the hardest work I can give them."

The band glanced around at each other, and the members nodded a little bit. It was a good start.

* * *

Chris was chewing on the cap of his pen, staring down at what he'd written. He'd always figured that writing music was the hard part and lyrics came more easily, but now he wasn't so sure. He'd scratched out a melody; it would need work, but he'd never actually _written_ a song before. With that in mind, it wasn't too bad, he figured. But the lyrics were the hard part.

And he wanted the lyrics done before he showed it to anyone else.

He read the last line he'd written back to himself, humming as he did so: _"Time for me to cut the strings / leaving you behind / Now I know you're not the real thing…"_

The best rhyme for behind he could think of was "rhymed," but that didn't really work in context at all.

"Behind… hiiiiiiind… Rewind, signed, lined… uh…"

"Aligned, assigned, confined, entwined, inclined, defined, unwind…"

Chris looked up abruptly and saw Alejandro standing in the door to his room, smirking slightly.

"Yeah, yeah, I bet you're going to talk about your SAT scores now, aren't you?"

"Nah. Can I come in?"

"Of course." Chris grinned. "Always. How does the record label search go?"

Alejandro shrugged. "How'd you like Denton? Boogie looks like the best choice so far."

"He seemed okay… Man, this trial stuff is stressful. My mom's been flipping out."

"Yeah, mine too." Alejandro sighed. "She's mailed me two boxes of cookies in the last four days, if you want any."

"I _always_ want cookies," Chris said.

"I'll go get—"

Chris grabbed his arm. "Nah, wait awhile. I like you more than cookies."

"Wow, I'm flattered." But Alejandro laughed as he said it, and Chris noted with satisfaction that Alejandro seemed more comfortable now than he had when they'd first gotten together. Maybe the stress was pushing them together, Chris mused. Or maybe they were just too good together for little things to cause problems.

"So, uh… Alejandro, what would you think if I… wrote a song?"

"Is that what the rhyming was about?"

"Maybe. Just answer me, okay?"

"Well, I'd think it was kind of cool. It takes a lot of creativity to write music, and none of us have even thought of trying yet."

"Oh, well, uh… I mean, it's not very good…"

"Modesty isn't your strong point, Chris."

"You want to take a look?"

"Of course." Alejandro made himself comfortable on Chris's bed, and Chris handed over the scribbled sheet of music and lyrics and waited while Alejandro examined it. But the examination seemed to take _forever,_ and Chris got antsy and nervous, and finally plopped down on the bed next to Alejandro, grabbing it back out of his hand.

"Okay, well, it's still a rough draft, I just did it this afternoon, so it's not very good—"

"It was so," Alejandro said.

"It was?"

"For a rough draft, sure. 'Not your puppet anymore'? You sound like you're breaking up with someone."

"I'm breaking up with Pulitzer," Chris answered, and Alejandro laughed.

"Funny, I didn't realize wealthy old men were your type."

"Oh, I forgot to mention that? Sorry, Alejandro, you know how forgetful I get."

"Yeah." Alejandro darted forward to kiss him quickly. "I kinda like that about you."

"You like me forgetful? …What was that thing you just did?"

"What thing?"

"Well, gee, I forgot."

Alejandro kissed him again. "That?"

"I think that was it. Maybe you should do it again to make sure."

"Of course, I have to make _sure,_" Alejandro agreed, and snaked an arm around Chris, pulling them closer together, and kissed again, though less quickly.

"That," Chris said after a minute, when they'd finally parted to catch their breath, "was it. You should keep doing it, though. Or else I might forget again."

"We wouldn't want that," Alejandro breathed, and they began to kiss again, the song lying forgotten on the floor where Chris dropped it as they sprawled over his bed.

* * *

Richard was on his way outside for a quick game of horse against CJ when he stopped abruptly, not sure if he was hearing things. He frowned and concentrated and there it was again—a muffled sob, someone crying hard somewhere in the house.

Which seemed odd, because the boys weren't really big on crying. And his mother's car was in the driveway, though she hadn't stopped to speak with him, not that he'd wanted her to.

The crying was coming from upstairs, and if it _was_ his mom, she was probably in the office. He walked up the stairs and hesitated outside the door, and from the sound he could tell that yes, his mother was inside, and yes, she was crying fairly hard. Which made everything awkward—they hadn't spoken to each other in three days, and now _this…_

He stood there for a long minute, debating. She was an adult, she could take care of herself. But on the other hand, she was his _mother_ and even when he was angry at her, he couldn't quite ignore that fact. And she _did_ love him, even if she was insane; and he loved her, despite the fact that she was insane. It wasn't as though he was a bastion of sanity all the time, either.

He groaned under his breath and knocked on the door, then let himself in. She looked up, startled, and reached for a tissue immediately. She half-hid behind it, dabbing at her face, but he could see her mascara had run badly.

"Uh… Mom? Are you, um, okay?"

"Yes, I…" She took a deep breath and another tissue. "I'm sorry, I don't know what… what came over me. I just, I was…"

"What're you doing here?"

"I, I'm sorry. Your lawyer… he… wanted a copy of the contract again, I, I didn't have one at home, so… I just faxed…" She broke into another round of sobs and turned away from him. He sighed and walked in, sat lightly on the desk and handed her another tissue.

"Um, okay, no big deal. I mean… I just didn't know why you were here, was all. I don't _mind…_"

"Yes, you do," she answered, still crying. "You—you're just like Shawna, you don't need me, you don't even _like_ me."

"What?" he asked.

"You spend all your time with her, of course you… no one needs mothers these days…"

"Mom? What are you _talking_ about?"

"You must have known!" she yelled at him, and shoved a paper across the desk. He glanced down and saw it was _Variety,_ which wasn't a surprise; it wasn't like his mother bothered with papers outside the industry.

Shawna was on the cover, in court. The headline read _Lawsuit Du Jour: Shawna Vs. Mama._

"What the…"

He picked the paper up and skimmed the article. He'd known the Uptown Boyz had filed a lawsuit against Pulitizer, and now there was a third pop law case, but Shawna's management problems weren't just her record label. She was suing for legal independence from her mother, as she wouldn't be a legal adult for the next year.

"She didn't tell me about this," he said, stunned. "Why wouldn't she tell me?" He frowned, and decided to save that for later; it didn't matter right now. "Mom, what's… what's the big deal? Everyone knows Mrs. Rivers is insane, that she and Shawna hate each other."

"The big deal?" she scoffed. "Richard, the big deal is your girlfriend divorcing her _mother_ and you hate me and you won't even admit it!"

It took him a few seconds to put that together. "Yeah, but… I'm not divorcing _you."_

"You will, you hate me."

He started to ask if she could blame him, then bit it back and sighed. It might be a valid point, but probably not the best one to make at the time. "I get pissed off at you a lot," he admitted finally. "But I don't _hate_ you. Not really."

"You blame me for everything!"

"Well, a lot of it is your fault."

She started sobbing again, and he sighed.

"Mom, I mean… I can't _lie…"_

"What was so bad?" she moaned. "What did I do that was just _so_ bad? Why do you hate me so much?"

"Jesus… Mom, I don't… I mean, okay, uh… I guess I just always feel like you pushed me too hard. I mean, like if I screwed up…" He shrugged. "All you ever worried about was my career."

"I wanted you to be successful!"

"And I am. Hey, look at that." He shrugged. "But you just… I mean, you were so obsessed with my career, with the show and then the other show and now _this,_ you get so crazy… It's like you aren't even my mother anymore sometimes, just my manager."

"Why can't I just be both?"

"I dunno. 'Cause you can't." He winced as she let out another blast of a sob. "I know—I know you never meant to… do whatever it was that you did that made me so screwed up. But sometimes I just wished you would listen to me and what _I_ wanted instead of… of worrying about my career."

"What did you want that I didn't do for you?" she demanded.

"It was what I didn't want!" he snapped back. "I never wanted to do _KidsRock_, ever. I only did it because…" He trailed off.

"Because why, if you hated it so much?"

"Because of you! Because I thought if I said I didn't want to do it, you…" He shrugged, uncomfortable and half-wishing he hadn't walked into the office after all. "I thought you'd be disappointed in me."

"Richard, all I ever wanted was to make you happy, you were so _talented_ and I knew you'd be miserable without the business."

"I was miserable _in_ the business, too. I mean—Jesus, you never asked me to begin with what I wanted to do. You couldn't have, I was _two_ when you started auditioning me."

"But I knew—I really knew, Richard, you have to believe me. We made home videos when you were that little, and you always loved them, you used to ask me to record you. You started singing all on your own, too, along with your old records. _Raffi."_

"Well… Yeah, but… Lots of kids do that. Their moms don't put them on TV."

"I didn't want you to be a, an adult and look back and wonder why you never got a chance."

"Yeah, but—" He cut off. "This is ridiculous, Mom. You over-managed me, you didn't listen to me, you and Dad fought about every last thing I did and everything I _didn't_ do, the whole _country_ read about your divorce, and if you hadn't _pushed_ me so hard I wouldn't have stayed on the show so long I had a nervous breakdown!"

She just sobbed for a minute, and Richard waited, then when she didn't say anything he stood up and started for the door.

"Richard—Richard, wait," she finally called, and he paused. "I just, I didn't know what to _do._ There were so many things I wanted for you, but I never wanted to hurt you, or, or make you unhappy or… or sick."

"Yeah, well…" He didn't know what to say.

"Things with your father were bad, and when you decided to live with _him,_ I just didn't know what to do with myself. I just knew I'd… failed. As a mother."

"Mom, stop, I don't want to hear—"

"I'm sorry, Richard." She stared at him plaintively.

"Uh…" Now he was desperate for an escape; he knew how to fight with his mother, but make up with her was totally new. He floundered. "It, uh… I didn't mean it to be personal."

"And now this happens with Shawna, and I just know…"

"Mom, listen, okay? Shawna's mom… She's a whole different kind of… It's not that she pushed Shawna too hard, it's that she, uh, she… uh… Look, the point is, I'm not going to file for anything like that." He didn't mention the fact that he was eighteen, which made it irrelevant anyway. "I don't hate you, okay? I get frustrated but that's _normal,_ it's about the only normal thing about me."

"Oh, Rich…"

"So, um, it's okay. Stop… stop crying. _Please._ Okay?"

She nodded and started in on the tissues again. "I'd like to help you with your… lawsuit. If you'd like me to."

"Well, uh.. The lawyers have it pretty well in hand. Hopefully it'll only be another couple days."

"Oh, I'm… I'm glad to hear that…"

"Well, look, uh, CJ's waiting for me outside, but, um, do you want to get dinner or something later? To, like… bond, or whatever."

She nodded. "I'd like that… a lot, actually."

"Yeah, me too… Okay, well, see you then." He hurried out of the room before his mother could decide to start crying again. He was pretty sure that getting someone to calm down and stop crying was a parent's job, not a kid's. He sighed. _Mothers._


	15. Fifteen

**Fifteen.**

"I think Shawna doesn't trust me," Richard said.

"Why's that?" Chris asked, collapsing in an armchair, not really listening too much. He had things on his mind—the trial, the new countersuit, the album they were recording, and _Alejandro—_and really just wanted to veg out in front of the television for awhile. But Richard seemed to want to talk, and he knew Richard well enough to know that the only way to get some peace and quiet would be to let him, so he half-listened as Richard began talking.

"She didn't even tell me about her mom."

"Maybe she thought you'd try and talk her out of it."

"Well, of course I would have! …That's what she said."

"So she trusts you. She just knows you very well."

"But she still should have _told_ me, I'm her boyfriend. We can't have a relationship if we don't trust each other, and we're in _love."_

"Whoa, really? When did that happen?"

"I haven't said it yet," Richard said sheepishly. "Neither has she. But I am and I'm sure she is."

"You're sure?"

"Why shouldn't I be? Shawna loves me."

"Well, I know you love her, but she's _Shawna Rivers,_ she could have anyone she wants; what makes you so sure that… you're the one?"

"Are you saying I'm not good enough for her?"

"No!" Chris backtracked. "I didn't mean it like that; I just meant… Uh… I dunno, she seems a little… shallow?"

"I can't believe you're calling her shallow!"

"Have you ever actually talked to her? Had a _conversation?"_

"Yeah, of course I have. We talk about stuff all the time…"

"Like?"

"Like… uh… business matters?"

"Do you ever talk about deep stuff?"

"_Deep _stuff?"

"Yeah, like world affairs or, uh, other things like that."

Richard snorted. "Do you?"

"Sometimes," Chris said evasively.

Shaking his head suspiciously, Richard said, "Chris, you care about the world less than anyone I've ever met. Entire countries could be blown straight off the map and you wouldn't care as long as it didn't affect your career."

"Yeah, well, maybe I've started paying attention to more things lately," Chris mumbled, his face turning a light shade of pink.

"Since when? Since you had to actually start reading the newspaper to keep up with lawsuit news, or since you got together with Alejandro and realized that _he_ actually cares about the world and so you'd better look as though _you_ do?"

"Or maybe I actually _care_."

"Oh, yeah?" Richard smirked. "Pop quiz, hotshot: which two countries in southern Asia have been at the brink of nuclear war more than once?"

"Uhh…" Chris frowned, wracking his brain for the names of two countries in southern Asia. "Okay," he admitted grudgingly, "so I don't actually know that. But I'm learning!"

"Yeah, you, learning. Sure. Is this like when he was your math tutor?"

"Hey, shut up. I'm not dumb, you know. I can learn when I want to."

Richard raised an eyebrow.

"It is possible for me to want to, you know!" He stuck out his tongue and added spitefully, "If Shawna wasn't so shallow, you'd be doing this stuff too. I just lucked out and got the brilliant one."

"You think you're that lucky?"

"Don't you?" Chris shot back. "Alejandro is…" He trailed off and grinned and ducked his head a little.

Richard smiled a little. "Yeah, yeah, so you and Alejandro are perfect together. So you wouldn't understand why I'm upset, so never mind."

"Wait, no, you can talk to me," Chris said. "I'd get it. I mean, it's not like Alejandro and I are _actually_ perfect. I'd get it."

"Yeah, right. What problems could you two possibly have?"

"Well, uh…" Chris shrugged uncomfortably. "You know. The whole… sex… thing."

"The sex isn't good?"

"The sex is nonexistent."

Richard chuckled. "Somehow, I'm not surprised."

"What? What's that supposed to mean!"

"Just, you know, it's _Alejandro._"

"So? Are you saying that he doesn't find me attractive? Because he _does_!"

"Calm down, Chris. I'm just saying that he's not the type to… sleep with just anyone right away."

"But I'm not just _anyone_," Chris whined. "And he's had a crush on me since _forever_, and now that we're together…"

"Yeah, but he's still… Alejandro," Richard said. "I mean, have you even _talked_ to him about this?"

"Well, sort of." Chris paused. "Okay, not really. But we shouldn't _have_ to. It's one of those things that just happens naturally! Except that it's _not_."

"You know that's just on TV, right?"

"Shut up."

"Anyway, about _my_ relationship," Richard said, and Chris rolled his eyes. "I just… I think Shawna doesn't trust me, and it makes me crazy, because it makes me wonder if I should trust her, you know?"

"Do you trust her?"

"I guess."

"You _guess?_ That after 'we're in loooooooove'?"

"It would be easier if she wasn't working with _Wayne."_

Chris almost choked from laughing so hard. "See! See, I told you. I told you he's sketchy and you blew me off but now you know I'm right!"

"I'm glad you're mature about this."

"I'm right! Ha!"

"He's doing her new choreography and they spend hours together every day, and _you_ know what he's like."

"Yeah, I know." Chris scowled. "He hit on my boyfriend."

"He wasn't your boyfriend at the time."

"Not the point!"

"Anyway, I know that Wayne wants her, because…. Duh. Every man alive wants her. Except Alejandro and Nick, they're too gay."

"Yeah, okay… But if you love her, you have to trust her, right?"

"…Right…"

"So even though you know Wayne is sketchy, you have to trust her to turn him down because she loves _you._ And no one loves Wayne."

"True."

"So you'll be fine."

"Yeah." He paused. "So, why do I feel so rotten?"

"Because you know how sketchy Wayne is and how hot Shawna is?"

"Oh, yeah. That's it. I hate him."

"Welcome to my world."

Chris sighed, and Richard sighed.

"At least I'm having sex."

"Shut up."

* * *

The house was crowded, even by the band's standard. It was a happy crowded, though—everyone's family and a few close friends were there, drinking champagne and celebrating. The first trial had been done for a few days and they'd won; the boys were quite happy to have their independence from Pulitzer Inc. But Pulitzer had immediately struck back with a countersuit, claming that anything they'd written or recorded during the time they'd still been under contract rightfully belonged to him, as did their band's name.

Luckily, the countersuit had been thrown out almost immediately, too. And now the band was free, able to finish writing and recording their album, and able to make their own decisions for the first time. And their first act had been to triumphantly sign with Boogie and call Denton to offer him the job.

Alejandro's family was relaxing nearby, and Rosalia had taken immediately to CJ's sister, and they were off talking animatedly in one of the corners. Even Rosalia had been allowed to have a small drink of champagne, though only under strict parental supervision.

He glanced over at Chris, who was talking with his mom. He'd initially wondered when Chris's father would arrive, but then realized that, in all the years he'd followed Chris's career, not one interview had mentioned his dad. Finally, he had broken down and asked, and Chris answered quietly that his father had walked out when he was an infant, and hadn't been heard from since. But he was mostly over that now, since his mother was so amazing.

Next, looking over at Richard, he saw Rich was drinking more heavily than probably necessary and hanging on Shawna, who was smiling politely and looking uncomfortable. Richard's mother was on one side of the room, chatting up Nick's family; and his father was on the other, talking with CJ's.

He walked over to Nick's family, sipping his own drink. Chris shot him a lingering look and he winked. Chris's mom knew and his own family knew, so they didn't have to really hide, but he wasn't sure his parents would be _entirely_ comfortable… They wouldn't object and would certainly be polite, but it would be awkward if he was visibly lusting after Chris.

He'd already greeted everyone else at the party, so he smiled as he walked over to Nick. "Hey," he said. "I don't think we've really met before," he said to Nick's parents.

"Alejandro!" his mother gushed. "You're looking so well!"

"Thanks. I'm glad to finally meet you all. You seem like a very close knit family."

His father raised an eyebrow. "You could tell so quickly?" he asked, half-laughing.

Nick looked on guard quickly and tried to wave Alejandro off, but Alejandro felt the need to clarify. "Oh, I just assumed—he spends so much time on the phone with you all, I just thought it was really nice."

"Phone?" his mother repeated. "Nicky hadn't called us in weeks until he invited us over!"

"Then… you call him a lot?"

"Nah, we wouldn't want to cramp his style when he's on tour." His father ruffled his hair and Nick winced.

"Then…" Alejandro paused. "Who are you on the phone with all the time? When you say you're talking to your folks?"

"Can we discuss this later?"

"Uh… sure. No problem." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, uh… yeah."

"Yeah." Nick glared at him, and Alejandro backed off, confused.

Not sure what to do, he wandered over towards CJ, CJ's sister, and Rosalia.

"…and Rosalia, did you notice that boybands can't say the word 'me'?"

"They can't?"

"Well, if they can, they choose _not_ to. Alejandro, say it."

"What?"

"Say the word!"

"Me?"

"No, no, like you were singing."

"…Me?"

"He does it wrong. Chris and Richard both say 'may' every single time. It's very bizarre."

_"You're_ very bizarre," CJ said.

"Uh, CJ, can I… talk? For a minute?"

"What's up?"

"Gossip."

"Oh! I'll be right back."

"Alejandro, it's not polite to gossip," Rosalia said.

He sighed. "Don't tell Mom and Dad, okay? I'll give you another sip of champagne."

"Okay!"

"You're getting all morally corrupt, Alejandro," CJ noted, as they walked away to talk.

"Too much time with you guys. So, uh, _who_ is it Nick's on the phone to all the time?"

"His family."

"Then why did his mom say he hadn't called home in weeks?"

"Why were you talking to his mom about it?"

"It came up. So… who was he talking to?"

"How should I know? I'll ask Rich and Chris." CJ grinned. "I do love gossip."

CJ ran away and Alejandro started to call out to stop him, noting how Nick hadn't wanted to talk, but shrugged. He couldn't pretend he wasn't curious, and it wasn't as though _anyone_ could control CJ.

Alejandro watched CJ bounce over to Richard, and hurry away after a quick exchange of words. Richard shifted uncomfortably and Shawna rolled her eyes. Richard turned to her and said something. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms. He put a hand on her shoulder and she pulled away.

Alejandro decided not to watch anymore. Something very odd was going on there.

Finally, Alejandro looked back at Chris who was staring curiously at Nick. Chris glanced back over at Alejandro, and they both smiled. Alejandro blushed a little under Chris's gaze; lately, Chris had taken to watching him so intently, almost scrutinizing him. It was clear there was something on his mind, but he hadn't mentioned it to Alejandro yet. Alejandro sighed, and made a mental note to ask him about it later.

Finally, Chris stood up and waved his glass in the air, looking a little tipsy. Alejandro smiled. "Hey! Hey! We need to have a toast!"

"We already drank the champagne," Chris's mother pointed out.

"I'll have more!" Rosalia called.

"You will not," Alejandro said.

"But you said—"

"Hey, you know what's really cool? If you drop a strawberry in a cup of sprite, it turns pink," CJ's sister interrupted.

"Really? Cool!"

"Let's toast with Sprite, then," Alejandro's mother declared, and Alejandro made another mental note; this time to thank CJ's sister.

Sprite was poured for everyone and they turned to Chris, waiting, and he seemed to almost have forgotten he called for the toast to begin with. CJ nudged him.

"Oh! Uh… Sorry, I was trying to think of what to say." He shrugged. "I just wanted to thank everyone for all their support and say how glad I am I'll never have to smell Weasel's BO again." Everyone chuckled politely. "But, uh, seriously… It's really been a hard couple of weeks, and we can't thank you enough.

"But really I… I want to remind everyone that it was Alejandro who realized what was going on and who helped us decide what to do. So I want to toast to our new record label, and to our own… Genius."

He beamed and Alejandro ducked his head, letting his hair fall in his face, wishing there weren't so much attention on him. But Chris grabbed his hand and held up the cup of sprite with his other hand, and everyone toasted. And when he'd finished his Sprite, Chris leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Alejandro knew he was blushing, but didn't mind too much.

* * *

"Will you look at this mess?" Nick scoffed, picking up a few plastic cups and tossing them in a plastic bag. "No one could stick around to help us clean?"

"It is our house," Richard pointed out, scowling. He'd been doing that since Shawna left. No one wanted to ask him why.

"Well, yeah, but it's not our mess."

"Hey, Nick, everyone's gone. Spill it. Who's been on the phone?"

Nick turned to glower at CJ. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said from behind clenched teeth.

"Your mysterious hours long phone conversations that you said were with your family but it turns out aren't. You know. Those." CJ grinned, and everyone else almost had to admire his lack of tact.

Nick grumbled. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Spill!"

"No!"

"Spillllll… and we'll stop harassing you about it," CJ said. "But we won't stop until you tell us."

"It's none of your business, and anyway, you're the only one bugging me about it!"

"Uh, actually, I'd like to know," Richard said.

"Me, too," Chris added.

Nick looked desperately at Alejandro, who shrugged. "Well, uh…"

"I hate you all." He paused. "You have to promise to not be mad, okay?"

"Why would we be mad?"

"Just promise."

"Why would we be mad? It's not like you're talking with the enemy, right?" CJ joked.

"Uh… promise not to be mad?"

"Okaaay…" Everyone promised hesitantly, confused.

"I… Um… I'm seeing Ryan. We talk almost every night."

"Ryan?" Richard asked. "Who's Ryan?"

"Ryan!" Nick said. "The… the dreamiest boy on the planet."

"Well, that narrows it down."

"Well, anyway, his name is Ryan and we're in love."

"Good for you!" CJ said, then, "Wait a minute, why would we be mad?" He paused. "_Wait_ a minute, this Ryan isn't, you know, Ryan _Ballatt,_ with the eye patch, is he?"

"You promised not to be mad!"

"Oh my god, Nick is dating an Uptown Boy!"

"No wonder he didn't want to say," Alejandro murmured.

"Nick!" Chris yelled. "You traitor! You're dating the enemy!"

"He's not the enemy, he's perfect!"

"He's an Uptown Boy!"

"He's sweet and kind and he loves me!"

"I hate the Uptown Boyz!"

"Well, it's not like I'm dating _Sean,"_ Nick mumbled.

"You might as well be."

"Okay, chill out," CJ said. "We should be _happy_ for Nick. I'm sure Ryan's not… that… bad."

"He's great, CJ. He's so nice, and we can just talk for hours… and he loves our music, too. He said he thinks you're a great dancer, Chris."

"Did he really?" Chris asked.

"Uh… yes, of course," Nick said, though his expression clearly spelled out, _I can't believe that worked._

"Great," CJ muttered. "This is fabulous, you realize that?"

"It is." Nick grinned sappily.

"I was being sarcastic."

"Aww."

"This blows."

"Aww."

"Stop cooing at me!" CJ snapped. "You're the one dating a greasy… um, dorky looking loser pop star!"

"Geez," Nick said. "You were okay with it a minute ago."

"That was _before_ I realized that I'm now the only one in the group who hasn't met my," he batted his eyelashes mockingly, "soulmate."

"Awwwwwww," Nick said again, and CJ glowered at him. "I mean, um, I can try setting you up again, if you'd like me to."

"No, thanks. I don't need your cast offs."

"Apparently, you do," Richard said innocently.

"Bite me," CJ snapped back.

"Look," Alejandro broke in. "Um… It'll happen when you least expect it. I mean, it did for everyone else here, right? I never thought I'd find Chris." He reached over for Chris's hand, and Chris smiled a little. "And Richard and Shawna… They _hated_ each other. And we were _all_ set to hate Ryan, even Nick, but he turned out to be…"

"Amazing," Nick supplied.

"Right, amazing. But none of us were looking too hard… If you just wait, it'll happen."

"Easy for you to say," CJ sulked. "Oh, just forget it. Yeah. Congrats, Nick."

"Um… If you want to come out with us sometime, that would be—"

"No."

"Okay." Nick smiled. "I feel better now that everyone knows. I just wonder what'll happen when Ryan tells everyone over there…"

"Probably a drunken fist fight," Richard answered. "That does seem to be their style."

"Not like us," Chris said. "We've got _class."_

"Well, that's one word for it," Alejandro mumbled.

* * *

Richard sat nervously in the front room, peering out the window, watching for Shawna's cute little pink car to pull up. She'd called him half an hour before and said she needed to talk to him and it was _important,_ and could she please come over right away? Of course he'd said yes; he'd barely seen her lately, between the trial and her recording and choreographing the new album.

He was feeling a little nervous, but told himself over and over that he trusted Shawna. Even if she'd been acting a little oddly lately. (Well… oddly for Shawna, and that was saying something.)

He tapped his fingers against the arm rest and waited until she finally pulled in. He opened the door for her and invited her to his room to talk, but she shook her head no and sat in one of the living room chairs. Not even on a couch where he could sit next to her.

This was going to be _bad._ He sat in another chair opposite her and waited.

"Well, um…" she said finally. "I just, I… I heard about something that's going to be in a tabloid in the morning and I wanted you to hear it from me first. Don't be mad, okay?"

"Don't be mad about what?" he asked suspiciously. "Do I have reason to be mad?"

"Well… You know how we said that groupies don't count?"

"…Yeah…"

"Um, what's your definition of a groupie?"

He stared at her. "I… You know. What are you saying?"

"Rich, don't be mad—"

"What are you _saying?"_ he demanded again.

"It didn't mean anything, he'd just fixed me a drink, I'd been working all day and it was so late, it didn't seem worth it for him to go home, we didn't _mean_ for it to happen—"

"Who!" he yelled.

"It doesn't matter, okay? It didn't mean anything."

"You cheated on me, and you say it didn't _mean_ anything?"

"It was just stupid, I didn't mean for it to happen! I just want to forget about it. I feel so horrible…"

"When?" he asked next, though he certainly wasn't going to forget to come back to the 'who' question.

"A few days ago."

"You cheated on me a few days ago and you _didn't tell me?"_

"I knew you'd be mad!"

"Of course I'm mad! You cheated on me!"

"I'm sorry, Richard. I'm so sorry… I care about you so much…"

"Then why did you do it?" he asked.

She stared at him and didn't say anything.

"Forget it," he muttered. "Who was it?"

"You won't forget if I tell you."

"I won't forget anyway. Who?"

"Richard, it didn't mean anything—"

"You keep _saying_ that! How is it supposed not mean anything that I'm in love with you and you don't even care enough about me to _not sleep with someone else!"_

"I'm so sorry," she said again, sounding like she was about to start crying. "I didn't want to hurt you… I care about you, I didn't mean for this to happen…"

"Too late," he muttered. "Just tell me who it was and get out, okay? I don't want to… Damn it. Just tell me and go."

"You have to promise to not get upset—"

"I already _am_ upset!"

"It was Wayne," she said quietly.

He stared at her.

"Richard, it didn't mean—"

"Stop saying that!" he yelled. "It might not matter to you but it means something to _me_ and I can't believe you'd do this to me! I can't believe—Fuck this. Get out of my house."

"Richard—"

"Get _out,_ Shawna. I don't want to see you."

"I'm so sorry."

"Whatever." He stood up. "The door's that way."

"Are you breaking up with me? Over a stupid thing like _this?_ Richard—"

"No," he said. "I'm breaking up with you because I love you and you don't love me back, and that's not going to change."

"I care about you, though…"

"Yeah, well, sometimes that's not enough. Good_bye,_ Shawna."

She stood up and if he'd looked at her, he would have seen her mascara was starting to run from tears. "Goodbye," she said, her voice breaking, and he waited to hear the front door shut and her car pull out before he collapsed back into his chair.

"Oh, fuck," he said weakly. "Oh, _fuck me."_

* * *

Alejandro and Chris had taken to falling asleep together, in Chris's double bed. It was all perfectly innocent (much to Chris's great irritation), and Chris did enjoy having Alejandro there to wake up to in the morning. So, when he finished brushing his teeth, he wasn't shocked to see Alejandro already lying in his bed, a book open in front of him.

Chris sat down on the bed and Alejandro closed the book and set it aside. "Hey," he said.

"Hey." Alejandro smiled at him. "You okay?"

"Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Alejandro shrugged. "You seemed to have something on your mind earlier. For a couple days, actually."

"Oh… Yeah, I guess I have." Chris shrugged. "It's not a big deal or anything, though."

"Well… Do you want to talk about it?"

"I dunno."

"Okay… well… If you want to, I'm right here." He put an arm around Chris, as if to prove his point.

"It's not that I don't want to, it's that I… I don't know how to say it. I don't want to say the wrong thing."

"Don't worry about it, just… tell me what's up," Alejandro said. "And I'll try not to misunderstand."

"Okay…" Chris sighed and leaned back on the bed, and stared up at the ceiling. "Here's the thing… Um, well, we've been together for a month now…"

"Yeah," Alejandro said. "It's been great."

"It has! It's been wonderful. I… I really, really like you. More than I've ever liked anyone."

"Well… ditto. So… what's up?"

"Okay, it's just… I don't know how to say it, I'm stupid. But… I mean, making out is a lot of fun, and the other stuff we've done is wonderful, but I kind of, um, am ready to… um, go further."

"Oh, you mean have sex."

"Yeah." Chris turned his head to look at Alejandro and blinked. "I was trying to make it sound less… I wanted to say it nice."

"You're sweet," Alejandro said, and slipped down in the bed so he was lying nose-to-nose with Chris.

"Um. I don't wanna pressure you or hurry you or anything… Just… What do you think?"

Alejandro ran a hand across Chris's bare side, and kissed him quickly. "I was wondering when this was going to come up," he admitted. "I'd… been thinking about it a lot."

"You have?"

"Of course I have. I'm dating _you._ I've had a crush on you since I was twelve. You honestly think I've never thought about…" he trailed off.

"Having sex?" Chris filled in.

"Yeah, that."

"So you've thought… uh, about it."

"Yeah."

"Me, too."

"Clearly."

"This is awkward."

"Yeah. Let's just have sex and get past that."

Chris stared at him. "I… I can't tell if you're joking or not."

Alejandro shrugged. "I think if you were anyone else I wouldn't be ready yet. But… you're _you._ And I've been crazy about you for years."

"So you weren't joking?"

"Well, the way I _said_ it was a joke. The sentiment, though…"

"I was gonna say it nice," Chris said again. "But if you want to… No pressure."

"I kind of want to."

"Me, too. No pressure."

"I got the no pressure part, Chris."

"I just wanted to make sure because… I mean, I know I've had sex before and you… haven't, so if you aren't ready yet or anything—"

"I just said I am. Why, did you want to?"

"What, _now?"_

"Well… yeah, sure, now. Why not?"

"Are you sure you're ready, Alejandro? I… I'll wait if you want. Until you're sure."

Alejandro grinned and ran his hand along Chris's side again. "When you say things like that, you make me sure."

"Oh. _Well_ then… uh…" Chris hesitated. "See, in my mind this was going to be a lot more romantic and now I'm kind of at a loss."

"Don't worry about the romance," Alejandro said and wrapped his arms around Chris, pulling him close. "Just… do what comes naturally. I guess." He grinned. _"You're_ the experienced one."

"Some things you can't learn about in books."

"Maybe you shouldn't talk, though."

Chris laughed, and kissed Alejandro instead of saying anything else.

* * *

When Richard finally convinced himself to get out of the chair, it was to get himself a drink. A very stiff drink. He didn't have to be up particularly early the next morning, and drinking until he could sleep sounded like a good plan.

He poured himself a shot of rum and downed it, then hesitated. He changed his mind, left the shot glass in the sink, and took the bottle with him. If he was going to be drinking himself to sleep, it seemed silly to bother with things like shots and glasses anyway.

Richard trudged towards his room, glad that everyone else seemed to have gone to sleep—or at least, they were being polite enough to pretend they hadn't overheard the fight. All he wanted to do was get in to his room and drink and then sleep.

He passed by Nick's room and there was no light under the door, nor under Alejandro's—but Alejandro usually slept in Chris's bed, lately. And Chris's light was on.

But so long as they didn't try to talk to him, he didn't care. He started to walk by, then paused. There were _noises_ from Chris's room.

Low, satisfied moans. Only a word or two in panted Spanish.

"Oh, fuck me" he said and walked the rest of the way to his room, slammed the door shut, and opened the bottle.


	16. Sixteen

**Sixteen.**

Alejandro had the remarkable ability to tie Chris's tie so that it would remain straight and tight all night, and yet never feel like it was strangling him. Chris could usually manage to get it either straight _or_ tight, but never both, so it was just one more thing on an extensive list of reasons to adore Alejandro.

"How do I look?" Chris asked.

Alejandro grinned and ducked his head, and didn't say anything.

"Are you two trying to kill me?" Richard asked. "Some of us are painfully single, remember?"

"Only because you never stop _talking_ about it," Chris answered. "It's been three _months._ Move on."

"Move on? How am I supposed to move on from the most desired woman on the _planet?_ I can't go out without seeing her face plastered on something—"

"As opposed to you just being plastered?" CJ suggested.

"—Shut up. I can't go _out,_ and I can't go out _with_ anyone because who can I possibly go out with who's not a step down from Shawna!"

"Um… Someone who wouldn't cheat on you?" Alejandro hazarded.

"Shut up!"

Nick gave Richard's face a patronizing pat. "Now sweetie, that's the wrong attitude. Do you want me to fix you up with someone? I've been finding date after date for CJ—"

"And I've heard about CJ's dates, so no thanks."

"You haven't had to _live_ through them," CJ groaned. "I am never, ever going to find someone."

"Ha," Richard muttered.

"See, at least you _had_ someone."

"She broke my heart!"

Nick cleared his throat. "CJ, you'll _adore_ this girl. She's beautiful."

"I'll bet she's not as beautiful as Shawna."

"Richard, are you drunk already?" Nick scolded.

"Little buzzed."

"Sweetie, this is a bad habit. We're worried about you. You never used to—"

"I just like to party a little. That's what single guys do, right?"

The rest of the band exchanged slightly worried glances. It was true that they did party; even Alejandro occasionally gave in and drank until he could barely walk to his room. (Or, more often in the last few months, to Chris's.) But all the same, since Richard and Shawna had broken up, Richard seemed to be going a bit… overboard.

"So…" CJ said, hoping to break the awkward quiet. "Is she interesting?"

"Fascinating," Nick said.

"Interesting like… circus freak? Or interesting like… fascinating?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, but I do seem to recall her saying something about webbed feet."

"Nick!"

"Kidding!" he laughed.

Alejandro went to work on his own tie and commented, "So… Platinum, huh?"

"Like, _triple_ platinum," Chris said. "Twenty-four hours and we're the best selling band of all time. Did you know that? Of _all time."_

"Technically, we're just the fastest selling band of all time," Richard said.

"Whatever, we broke a record. We rule."

"He's going to be insufferable all night, isn't he?" Nick sighed. "Just because _someone's_ first attempt at songwriting—"

"Is the most requested single _of all time?"_ Chris finished. "Yeah, I might be a little bit smug. Alejandro, am I smug?"

"You're adorable."

"His ego doesn't need any of your help, Alejandro," Richard muttered.

"Okay, maybe a little bit smug," Alejandro agreed. "But I happen to find it adorable."

Chris grinned and kissed Alejandro's cheek.

"Man, I remember back when you two hated each other. Those were the days," Richard sighed. "Now you're all… irritating… and Nick and Ryan could not be any more obvious if they actually tried to get caught, and CJ's on a quest for true love, and I was dumped by Shawna fucking Rivers."

"Technically, I think you dumped her," Chris reminded him.

"She cheated on me!" Richard glowered. "With… With _Wayne!"_

Chris laughed. "Look, you didn't want to let her apologize, maybe it wasn't a big deal until—"

"Not a big deal?" Alejandro interrupted. "She slept with someone else."

"Well, yeah, but… showbiz." Chris shrugged. "I dunno, I mean, _I_ would never do that," he said quickly, "but some people don't think it's such a big deal."

"I still don't always understand you," Alejandro said.

"It's not too hard. Ahem." CJ pitched his voice up, parodying Chris. "Hi, my name is Chris Ivers. Love me! Love me now! Everyone love me!"

Everyone started laughing except for Chris, but even he took it in stride. The guys had noticed that Chris had gotten much better about laughing at himself since he and Alejandro had been together—Alejandro was probably good for his ego (though he still refused to play basketball) but helped keep him down to earth, which he needed.

Richard managed not to glare at them as the laughter subsided. Stupid couples.

* * *

CJ sat down. His date—Laura, apparently—was cute enough, though she looked just like every other woman who wanted to look like Shawna, which, given his chosen business, was basically all women.

"So…" he said, when she didn't say anything. "How was your day?"

She stared at him for a long second. "Fine," she finally said.

"Oh… good," he answered. "Um, so, how did you and Nick meet?"

She stared at him again. "Like… at a dance comp."

"Oh, cool! So, you're a dancer."

"Yeah."

He tapped his fingers against the table. "Um… So… how long have you been dancing?"

"Like… awhile."

He raised his hand a little and motioned to the waiter, a cute Latino guy who was probably no older than CJ himself. "Could I get a drink, please? Very quickly?"

"What would you like?"

"Anything," CJ said. "Just… fast. Please."

The waiter glanced at CJ and his date, and nodded. "Right away, sir."

"So…" CJ said to his date. "Nice party, huh?"

She stared at him.

"Um, for my band? That I'm in?"

Stare.

"So, um, you do know I'm in a band, right?"

"Um… yeah."

"Um… Yeah," he repeated. "Look, you have to say something. Anything. Conversation makes the world go round."

"Um… What?"

He groaned. "Never mind."

* * *

Nick supposed it was rude to spend a whole party that was being thrown in their honor on his cell phone, but Ryan had been strictly forbidden from attending (Denton had nearly had an aneurism when he realized that not just one or two members of the band were gay, but every single one of them was gay or bi) for fear that the press would realize just why they were such close friends. And parties were no fun without Ryan.

He was sitting at the bar and watching everyone around him—other band members, guys who worked for the record label, and the elite party goers of the city. It was a fairly exclusive party that somehow also managed to be huge. He'd already lost track of CJ in the crowd, but hoped his date was going well. He was getting tired of hearing CJ whine about the quality of girls Nick set him up with.

"Hey, babe," Ryan greeted him. "How's the party?"

"Not as much fun as it would be if _you_ were here."

"I miss you."

"I miss you _too."_

"Um, are you sure it's okay for us to talk like this? I don't want to get you in trouble for blowing off the party…"

"I'd rather be blowing—"

"Nick, sweetie, I'm _sure_ there are other people in the room. That can't be appropriate."

"Fine, have it your way. It's true, though."

"Well, it's not like I disagree any," Ryan laughed. "So, how's the wonder couple doing?"

"Gazing into each other's eyes. And people say _we're_ obvious."

"Just 'cause I can't keep my hands off you," Ryan agreed. "What's a little friendly touching between guys?"

"That depends where you're touching, I suppose."

"You know where I'd like to touch—"

"I'm in public, dear. I don't want to get all… flustered."

"I was just going to say your tummy. You're _ticklish."_

"I am not!"

Ryan laughed and Nick grinned. Ryan had a great laugh.

Richard sat down at the bar next to him. "Heading off to have phone sex soon?"

"Heading off to cry in your beer soon?" Nick shot back.

"Yes, probably. I hate these things."

Nick sighed. "Babe, I gotta run, I have to save a friend from getting drunk and making an ass of himself."

"Richard?"

"How'd you guess?"

"I'm _not_ going to make an ass of myself," Richard sulked.

"History would indicate otherwise," Nick answered. "I'll call you back tonight…" He paused. "Ryan?" Nothing. _"Ryan?"_

"I—I gotta run. Loveyoubye!"

Ryan hung up and Nick frowned. How very odd.

* * *

Somehow, the press hadn't realized why it was that Alejandro and Chris always sat together at events. When asked, they claimed they were best friends, which was basically true, and they managed to keep their hands to themselves, if only barely. So the press seemed to accept it, which was lucky, because the two of them refused to be separated at events.

Alejandro glanced over at their waiter, who was bringing out appetizers, rushing back and forth from the tables to the kitchen. Chris followed his gaze. "You're staring," he said.

"I am not."

"He's cute."

"He looks like my _cousin,"_ Alejandro said.

"Then why are you staring?"

"I am not staring, I just thought I recognized him."

"Do you?"

"No," Alejandro said. "Why, would it bother you if I was staring at him?"

"A little bit," Chris agreed.

"But you're the one who thinks cheating is no big deal."

"Alejandro, man, I didn't mean _that._ I just wanted Richard to stop… Well, look at him." He gestured to the bar, where Richard was drinking a beer. "You know that's not his first of the night, he was buzzed before we even got here, and he drank, like, half a bottle of wine in the limo."

Alejandro nodded. "You're right. I'm starting to worry about him."

"Yeah, everyone is. You think the press is gonna notice?"

"They haven't noticed us _or_ Nick and Ryan, so how observant could they be?" Alejandro asked. "We should talk to him about it sometime. When he's sober."

"Yeah, that could take awhile."

"I know. We should try and… help him out."

"Yeah."

"I don't think he'd like that, though," Alejandro continued. "He's been really angry at us lately."

"Yeah, I noticed." Chris sighed. "I don't mean to piss him off, I just… like you."

"Exactly. We shouldn't feel bad about being together."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Feel bad about being together?"

"Never." Alejandro smiled a little bit. "I feel bad that Richard feels bad, but… You're worth it."

"Well, gee." Chris laughed, and the waiter walked over with their appetizers on a tray.

"Sorry for the wait," he apologized. "We never were told how many people would be attending, we ended up a little bit understaffed."

Chris shrugged.

"Don't worry about it," Alejandro said. "We're patient."

"Thanks," the waiter laughed. "If only everyone was!" He set down the appetizer and two plates.

_"Gracias,"_ Alejandro said.

_"De nada,"_ the waiter answered, and smiled a little bit. "So you really speak Spanish?"

Alejandro nodded.

"Uh, cool. I'd better… If you need anything, let me know," he said, and hurried off.

Alejandro watched him go, while Chris picked up a fork and prepared to dig in. He glanced up. "So," he said in a sing-song voice, "flirting with the help again, are we?"

"Excuse me?"

"Kidding, I know you weren't. He looks like your cousin."

"Yeah." Alejandro glanced down, then up at Chris. "Um, 'the help'?"

"What?"

"That's a little bit demeaning, don't you think?"

"It's just a phrase," Chris answered.

"Yeah, well, I guess when you're rich and white, maybe it is."

"Wait, what?" Chris said. "I think we're having an argument here that I didn't realize. What?"

"We're not having an argument, I just wanted to point it out."

"Point out what?"

"That it's demeaning."

"It's not demeaning; it's his job. He gets paid for it."

"Yeah, well, my aunt cleans houses for a living and I think she'd be offended."

"Alejandro, I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry, okay? God."

"Fine, whatever. I just thought you'd want to know you sounded spoiled."

"I sounded _what!"_

"Chris," Alejandro said quietly, "there are other people around, so if you could not scream…"

"You think I'm spoiled?"

"I didn't say that! I said you _sounded_ spoiled."

"Maybe I'm not spoiled, maybe you're just sensitive."

"And now, you're acting spoiled, too." Alejandro shook his head. "I don't want to fight with you, Chris—"

"Then why are you?"

"You're fighting with _me,_ I just wanted to make a point. Point made, now I'm done."

"I can't believe you think I'm spoiled."

"Oh for the love of… Chris, you are spoiled, you always have been. I don't care about that, I just don't like it when you're so dismissive of everyone you _think_ is beneath you."

"So now I'm spoiled and I'm racist."

"I didn't say anything about race! You're classist."

"Oh, well that's _so_ much better."

"You're not always. But you can be, you forget that other people deserve as much respect as you do."

"You've been wanting to get this off of your chest for awhile, huh?"

"Yes, actually," Alejandro snapped. "I didn't want to fight about it. But yes, since I did _not_ grow up rich and white, I noticed it, and yes, it pisses me off sometimes."

"Yeah, well sometimes you piss me off too. You're so smug—"

_"I'm_ smug?"

"You think you're perfect because you're smarter than everyone else, but no one likes a know-it-all, _Alex."_

Alejandro looked a little stunned, but covered it up quickly. "I'm not smarter than everyone else, I'm just smarter than _you."_

"Screw you."

"Not tonight." Alejandro stood up. "Look, let's talk about this later, okay? I don't think this is the best place for our first big fight."

"What, you've been keeping track of the little ones?"

"Chris, just… shut up. We'll talk later."

_"Bye,"_ Chris snapped as Alejandro walked away, leaving their appetizer uneaten on the table. It wasn't until Alejandro had disappeared into the crowd that he realized he had no idea why they were fighting, but that didn't make him any less angry.

* * *

Nick was worried. He had text messaged Ryan four times, and hadn't gotten an answer, and had rushed out to the coat room to call him, but had gotten his voicemail. And it wasn't like Ryan would have turned off his phone—Ryan always had it on and always had it with him. He just wasn't answering.

He pocketed the phone when his watch beeped, telling him it was time to go join the rest of the band for the toast. They were supposed to thank everyone who'd helped them with the album and the promotion. He sighed. He didn't want to do it; it wasn't that he wasn't grateful for their success and everyone who'd helped them, it was that he didn't want to do _anything_ until he knew what had happened to Ryan.

But Richard and Chris usually did most of the talking anyway, so no one would notice if he was a bit upset, he assumed. Until he walked in and saw the rest of the band.

Richard was draped over Chris, clearly a little too drunk to stand up straight. He'd never been too drunk for an event before, Nick noted to himself. That was really not good at all.

CJ's arms were crossed. "You," he hissed at Nick, as Nick walked up to them. "Die."

"What did I do?"

"Laura."

"Oh. I thought you'd like her."

"She has the personality of a blow up doll," CJ said, his words slurring slightly. Fabulous; CJ was drunk too. "And I know blow up dolls!"

"Are you sure you want to tell me that?" Nick sighed. He glanced over at Alejandro, who was leaning against the wall and glaring at no one in particular. But he was definitely glaring, and since he and Chris weren't anywhere near each other, and weren't making googly eyes at each other, that was not a good sign either.

He looked over at Chris, who looked less drunk than Richard, but almost as angry as Alejandro. He was definitely not entirely sober, though.

"So," Nick said. "Who's gonna give the toast?"

CJ hiccupped and Richard fell back against the wall, laughing like a madman. Alejandro stared at the floor and Chris shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Okay, so, me, then," Nick sighed. "You're all cut off from the bar for the rest of the night. Seriously."

Richard giggled. "Doesn't matter, I gotta flask."

"Oh, well that's healthy. You get an intervention as soon as everyone else is sober enough to do it. Alejandro…"

"I can help," Alejandro said. "I don't feel like talking, though."

"You mean you're not going to try and sound smart on stage?" Chris snapped.

"Unlike some people, when I sound smart, it's not an act."

"Whoa, okay, that's enough of that," Nick said. "Let's go give this toast, I'll do it and you guys just stand there and _don't_ fall down and _don't_ fight with each other, and then we'll go home and sober up and this will all seem like a bad dream, right?"

He didn't get a resounding chorus of agreement, but Richard draped an arm over Chris and they started towards the podium, Richard stumbling as he walked. CJ glared at Nick. "You die," he said.

"I really don't need this," Nick muttered, and fell into step, Alejandro following him.

Nick walked up to the podium and everyone stood behind him. Richard managed to lean on Chris and make it look casual, instead of looking like he'd fall over if he didn't have someone to hold him up. Chris was _Chris,_ and he smiled for the cameras as soon as people were watching him. CJ and Alejandro also both forced smiles onto their faces, though not quite as convincingly. And Alejandro and Chris were standing as far away from each other as they could manage.

"Well, uh," Nick said into the microphone. "We just really wanted to take a minute to thank everyone who's helped us out. We're so excited by how well this album is doing, we can't even put it into words. But we really want to thank the great people at Boogie for supporting us, and all of our fans, and all of the people who've done sound mixing and recording and helped us get this whole thing together… But we especially want to thank Bryan Denton, the best manager in the world. Right, guys?"

"Right!" Chris said brightly.

"I don't have a glass up here, whoops," Nick continued, half-afraid that Richard would pull out his flask. "But if everyone else could raise a glass, we'd like to toast. To our manager, Denton."

Everyone watching followed his suggestion and toasted, and up in the front, Denton grinned at him. And thankfully, no one seemed to notice that the five band members looked less than thrilled.

Nick hurried off as soon as he could to get a look at his cellphone. No missed calls. _Damn._

* * *

"Would you get off of me?" Chris demanded, and pushed Richard off his shoulder. Richard laughed and collapsed back against the wall of the hallway.

"Sorry, I just… Didn't want to trip with people watching…"

"Well, maybe if you didn't drink so much that wouldn't be a problem."

"Maybe if you'd drink a little more you'd see it my way," Richard countered, and produced the flask from his pocket. "You like gin?"

"I drink gin," Chris said, and accepted the flask, then downed a mouthful.

Richard glanced around. This was a back hall, not too far from the kitchen; the only people who walked by were waiters and chefs who were on break. Somewhere behind them was the rest of the party and the rest of the hotel where it was being held.

"So you'n Alejandro got inna fight?"

"Yeah. I don't want to talk about it."

"That _sucks._ I mean, 'cause you gotta, like, love him but if he's mad at you that's _bad."_

"Thanks, genius, I didn't realize that."

"You're _mean_ when you're mad. Gimme my flask."

Chris handed it over and Richard took another drink.

"It was such a stupid fight. He thinks I'm _spoiled."_

"You are," Richard said. "See, I'm too drunk to lie. You are but we love you anyway 'cause you're…"

"Yes?"

"I dunno, you're rotten but we like keeping you around."

"Thanks, this is really making me feel better. Give me that." Chris reached for Richard's flask again. "I dunno, I said some pretty rotten things to him, too."

"Maybe he deserved 'em."

Chris almost choked on his gin. "You think?"

"Well, no one's perfect, not even Ale… Alejan… Alex."

"That's what I said! He thinks he's so great, just because he got good grades. No one cares about grades in real life."

"An' he thinks I've gotta drinking problem."

"You _do_ have a drinking problem," Chris said. "Ever since Shawna…"

"I ain't gotta problem, I just like it. 'Cause it's better than getting nervous all the time an' throwing up. At least this way I know why I'm puking."

"Yeah, I guess." Chris downed some more of the gin, then handed it back to Richard. "We've never had a real fight before."

"I never fought with Shawna but she still cheated on me," Richard said. "An' I _loved_ her. That's the worst. If I didn't love her I wouldn't be so upset an' if I wasn't so upset I wouldn't drink so much."

"You should stop," Chris said. "It's not healthy… we're worried."

"Who, you an' Alex?"

"Shut up." Chris reached for the flask. "Give me that, you're drunk enough."

"An' you're barely drunk at all!"

"Exactly." Chris paused, then chugged the rest of the flask, which was a fair amount. Even Richard could see it when it hit him a few seconds later; Chris fell back against the wall and almost fell down it, too. "Wow, that's… strong."

"Yeah, I know."

"I can't believe him, you know? He thinks he's so _perfect_ he can just tell me what to say and what to think 'cause I'm not _smart_ enough."

"She _was_ perfect an' she cheated on me. She broke my heart!"

"He's… he's… what's the word?"

"What word?"

"The word for when someone… when someone thinks he's always right. 'Cause that's what he is. But he's _not_ always right an' I was just joking! He can't take a joke…"

"She always thought I was calling her fat."

"He always treats me like I'm dumb, but I'm not! Am I?"

"Nah," Richard said, leaning over to ruffle Chris's hair, and bursting into giggles as he did so. "You got pretty hair, Chris."

Chris laughed. "Man, I want another drink. You think Nick really got us cut off?"

"I bet Denton did 'cause he asked me if I was drunk before the toast and I said yes, 'cause I wasn't thinking, 'cause I'm drunk."

"Good job, Rich. God, I've never been _mad_ at him before! But he really does think I'm stupid, doesn't he? I need a drink."

"Do we have rooms here?"

"What?"

"In the hotel? 'Cause I bet the rooms have bars."

"You think? We have rooms, Denton said we'd be here late so he just got us rooms."

"I bet we do. Let's go get something to drink from a room."

"Okay," Chris agreed, and took a few steps forward. "Man, walking's _hard_."

"I know, I usually lean on _you."_

"Yeah, you do," Chris said. "Why me?"

"'Cause you got the prettiest hair," Richard said, and he was drunk enough that it seemed to make some kind of sense. And Chris didn't disagree, so the two of them staggered through the hallway together.

* * *

Alejandro tugged on CJ's shoulder, and CJ jumped, then looked relieved when he saw who it was. "Thank god, I thought you might be my date, Laura the Undead."

"Uh…" Alejandro said, as they started towards the main hotel lobby. "Have you seen Chris?"

"Why? Don't know where your snugglebunny is?"

"We got into a fight earlier," Alejandro mumbled. "I was being kind of… I blew it out of proportion, I just want to say I'm sorry."

"Aww, how _sweet."_

"Have you seen him?"

"Awhile ago, yeah. He was going to take Richard up to bed before he passed out on the floor."

Alejandro nodded. "Thanks," he said, and hurried off to get Richard's room number. He felt awful; he knew he hadn't been entirely wrong before, but he also realized he hadn't been very nice, and the fight was at least half his fault. And he _did_ care about Chris, and wanted to make sure Chris knew that.

Richard's room was up a few floors and Alejandro's stomach was in knots by the time he stepped out of the elevator. He'd never fought with Chris before, and he had no idea how to get past the fight. He hoped that a simple sorry would be enough, but if Chris was really upset…

He knocked on Richard's door and there was no answer, but the door fell open a crack. It hadn't been shut tight. He sighed; Richard was probably passed out, and would need someone to make sure he was okay.

"Yo, Rich?" he called. "Hey…"

He stepped into the room and saw that one of the lights was on dimly.

"Alejandro?" Richard asked, panicked, and a moment later Alejandro saw why.

Chris and Richard were in bed together. A sheet was pulled up to their waists, but it didn't make much of a difference; neither one had a shirt on, and Alejandro could see two pairs of pants left on the floor.

Chris was staring at him.

Alejandro stared back.

"It's not what you think—" Richard started, but didn't have a chance to explain.

Alejandro turned around and left, slamming the door shut after him.


	17. Seventeen

**Seventeen.**

Chris woke up slowly, his body feeling heavy and his head clouded. He didn't quite have a hangover, but he could certainly feel the fact that he'd been drinking. He shut his eyes again and rolled over, one arm automatically reaching for the warm body next to his.

"Alejandro…" he mumbled.

"Uh… no? Chris?"

Chris sat upright, his eyes going wide. _"Richard?"_ he demanded, staring in horror at the boy next to him.

Richard sat up, looking equally horrified. "Um… did we…"

"God, I hope not." Chris shuddered. "No offense, but I have Alejandro. And… Why would I… Why would _you,_ for that matter?"

Richard rolled his eyes. "I don't know, but since that's your underwear on the floor, I'm guessing we did."

"Oh, shit." Chris buried his head in a hand. "I mean. _Shit._"

"Yeah…" Richard trailed off. "Um, I didn't mean for that to happen." He groaned. "I really, really didn't."

"Do you think Alejandro knows?" Chris asked hesitantly. "I… I don't want to lie to him, but if he knew he'd be so hurt… I don't want to lose him. Damn it, what _happened?"_

"I was drunk." Richard shrugged. "I think you two were fighting, I remember you were complaining about that."

"Yeah, yeah, we had a fight. So I was avoiding him, I remember sharing a flask with you. We went to go get something else to drink and ended… up… here."

"Yeah." Richard groaned. "Chris, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I never meant for this to happen. I really liked you two together, you know that."

"Don't say that like we aren't still together!" He glanced over at the pile of clothes on the floor, then hurried out of bed to start dressing. "I have to go find him, I have to find out if he knows…"

"What if he does?"

"I don't _know,"_ Chris said. "I just hope… I mean, I wish…. I think groveling."

"If he doesn't, are you going to tell him?"

Chris didn't answer, just finished pulling on his clothes and started out of the room. He couldn't have answered if he'd wanted to. He didn't know.

* * *

Chris hurried in to the house, his hair unbrushed and his clothes rumpled. He wished he'd had time to shower, but he wanted to get to Alejandro as soon as possible. Even if he still smelled like alcohol and his head was a little fuzzy.

Nick was at the kitchen table, his cell phone in front of him. He seemed to be staring at it. "Hey, what's up?" Nick asked, not looking up.

"Is Alejandro home?"

"In his room, but I wouldn't… I mean, if I were you. Have you heard from Ryan?"

"Why would I have heard from your boyfriend? …What's with Alejandro, is he okay?"

"He slammed the door shut last night and hasn't come out since. I got the feeling you two weren't getting along. Seriously, has Ryan called you?"

"No, Ryan hasn't called me, I don't think he even has my number. Alejandro seems mad?"

"Must have been a pretty big fight." Nick reached for his phone. "I'm calling again. He'll pick up. Right? He'll pick up."

Chris half-wondered what that was about, but didn't care too much. All he really cared about was Alejandro. He took a deep breath to try and compose himself, then walked up the stairs and to Alejandro's room.

The door was shut. Chris knocked, got no answer, and knocked again, louder. "Alejandro?" he called. "Alejandro, it's me. Are you there?"

No answer, but the light was on inside; Chris could tell by the sliver under the door.

"Alejandro, I want to talk to you. Can I come in, please?"

Nothing.

He hesitated, then turned the knob anyway, and the door opened. Alejandro was sitting at his desk, back to the door, pouring over a giant textbook. He had a highlighter in one hand, but was clutching it tightly enough that the skin of his knuckles was white.

"Alejandro, please. I want to talk."

Alejandro didn't move, and he didn't speak. Chris waited, feeling a little ill. He hadn't known what to expect, but certainly not _this._

"Alejandro…" he said again, weakly. "I don't know what… Please just tell me why you're upset. I mean, I know we were fighting and all but I'm sorry. I was a real dick, and you were right, and I'm snotty and spoiled and… and everything you said. And I'm so, so sorry. You're the most important person in the world to me and I really want to talk this out… Alejandro, _please."_

Alejandro capped the highlighter and dropped it on the desk. Chris waited, and finally, Alejandro slammed the book shut too, stood up and spun around to face him.

"Alejandro—"

"Get. _Out."_

Chris swallowed. "Please…. You don't mean that. I'm so sorry… All I want is to fix things. All I want is you."

Alejandro stared at him, his face a mask of anger. He didn't move or speak.

Chris nodded. "Okay. But… when you're ready to talk, please… I'll be here, okay? When you want to talk."

He hurried out of the room, and shut the door behind him. It wasn't until he was back in his own room that he realized he'd probably lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.

* * *

When Nick's phone rang at 1:30 that afternoon, he had never been so relieved in his life. Like he knew it would be, the screen lit up with a picture of Ryan grinning at him, flashing his name and number below. "Babe, hi, what happened? Where'd you go last night, I called you a million times."

"Yeah, I noticed. I have nineteen missed calls from you and seven from CJ."

Nick laughed nervously. "I thought maybe… you were avoiding me?"

"Sweetie, if I was going to avoid you, I don't think I'd answer CJ's call, either."

"You were avoiding me!"

"No! No, not at all! They stole my phone."

"Who?"

"Sean and Jack. They, uh, stole it. I just got it back when I threatened to key Sean's car. I was serious, too, I had the key ready to go when he finally gave it back."

"Why did Sean and Jack steal your phone?"

"'Cause they kinda… walked in on us talking. And when I wouldn't tell them who I was talking to… They kinda wanted to see my outgoing calls list… And when I wouldn't show them…"

"Oh, _babe."_ He paused. "You couldn't have called me from someone else's phone?"

"Well, I was going to, but they locked me in the garage."

"They _what!"_

"So, um, Sean wasn't too thrilled about the whole… me and you thing. It was for my own good, Jeremy said."

"Wait, _Jeremy_ locked you in the garage?"

"He more locked Sean _out_ of the garage until he calmed down. Hence me being in perfect position to key his car if he didn't give my phone back."

"Oh, sweetie. I'm sorry you had a rough night."

"Well, I guess it was worth it… They know now, no more hiding. Except from the press, I mean. And our fans."

"Well, of course. So… Is everything okay?"

"Well, I have a black eye and Sean's got some claw marks. And to think, he makes fun of my manicures. Jack tried to get between us and got elbowed hard enough to bruise his stomach, and Sean kind of went after Jeremy when he suggested that maybe us dating isn't the end of the world…"

"Is Jeremy okay?"

"The doctor said minor lacerations."

"Oh my god!"

"Kidding! Uh, bloody nose, but he pinned Sean down on the floor for long enough for me to get in the garage, and he looked okay just now…"

"Where was Tony through all of this?"

"At the bar down the street."

"Sounds like Richard." Nick sighed. "So you're all right now? Things in the band okay?"

"Well, Sean's not talking to me, and he and Jeremy aren't talking, and he and Jack aren't talking, and Anthony pretty much hasn't come home from the bar yet, and Jack's pissed off, and Jeremy's scared that if he's caught talking to me Sean will jump him again, so… yeah, it's all normal here in the Uptown Boyz home."

"Have you ever considered moving out?"

"Every single minute. But then I've got you leaving me nineteen adorable voicemails, and things look a little better. I love you, you know."

"I love you too. I was so worried…"

"Hey, Sean's got a sweet car; I slept in the back seat. It wasn't so bad, except I knew you'd be worried so _I_ was worried."

"You shouldn't have."

"Well I couldn't help it. How can I not be worried when I never stop thinking about you?"

"Oh, you," Nick laughed.

Ryan laughed too. "It's nice to hear _someone_ sounding happy. Everything at your place is cool, then, I take it?"

Nick hesitated. "Good question." A door slammed shut loudly upstairs and Nick winced involuntarily. "I'll have to get back to you on that…"

"Something wrong?"

"I think there's some trouble in paradise. I gotta go check that out."

"Okay, call me later."

"I will. Love you, babe."

"I love you too."

"I love you _more."_

"No, I love _you_ more."

Nick and Ryan started laughing at the same time, and Nick made a kissy noise into the phone before he hung up. He sighed, dropped his phone in his pocket, and started for the stairs. _Something_ was wrong, and he had the feeling it had ended up as more than a minor fight. Richard still wasn't home, and Chris had been totally disheveled… There was no yelling upstairs, but the door slam was _ominous._

He started with Alejandro, figuring he was easier to talk to for the most part. He knocked and there was no answer, so he called, "Alejandro? You wanna talk?"

There was a pause, then finally, "Come in."

Nick let himself in. Alejandro was lying on his side on the bed, looking miserable. Nick sat down in the chair and waited.

"I really don't want to talk."

"What happened?"

"Chris…" He trailed off, then shrugged. "He slept with Richard."

"He _what!"_ Nick gaped.

"Yeah," Alejandro said. "So, um, I don't feel much like talking."

"He cheated on you?" He paused. "With _Richard?"_

"Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"They were naked in bed when I walked in, so, yes. I'm pretty sure. Nick, I really don't want to—"

"Excuse me." Nick stood up. "I think I have to go kick Chris's face in."

Alejandro rolled over to stare up at the ceiling. "Have fun," he muttered.

Nick hesitated, torn between trying to comfort his friend and wanting to go kill his other friend, and decided that it would be easier to massacre Chris than it would be to comfort Alejandro, and let himself out of the room. Chris's was a short stomp down the hall, and he let himself in without bothering to knock.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, crossing his arms and slamming the door shut.

"I have a headache." Chris was also lying on his bed, curled into the fetal position and clutching a pillow to his stomach. "And if you think you can make me feel any worse, well, you can't, so just leave me alone."

"No, I don't think I will. What the _hell_ were you _thinking!"_

"You already said that!"

"Well?"

"I don't know, okay? I was pissed off and drunk and Richard was _there_ and I didn't think anything was going to happen and I didn't _mean_ for anything to happen, and after we broke into the minibar my memory is a little fuzzy so I don't even _know_ what happened, all I know is that when I woke up this morning I'd screwed up my life, so just _leave me alone."_

Nick shook his head. "I don't get you," he said. "First you hate Richard. Then you hate Alejandro. Then you and Rich are friends and all you want is Alejandro, and then you _get_ him and you screw him over by _screwing Rich!"_

"I don't want to talk about it!" Chris yelled. "I just want to die or something."

"Yeah?"

"No. What I _want_ is for Alejandro to come bring me aspirin and kiss me and tell me it's okay. But that's not going to happen, so I'll settle for lying here on my own and feeling like crap."

"Good," Nick snapped.

"Hey," Chris snapped back, as Nick started out of the room. "Don't forget to be this nice to Richard when he gets home."

"You can count on that. If I slam the door, will it hurt your head?"

"Yes."

"Good." Nick slammed the door.

* * *

Richard felt a little ill all over again every time he looked at Chris. Not that Chris wasn't attractive; he was. Lots of people would have killed to sleep with him. But he was _Chris._ He was like Richard's little _brother._

Chris was also, notably, not speaking to him. But then, neither was anyone else. He was only comforted by the fact that they weren't speaking to Chris _either,_ so at least the snubbing was equitable. But that didn't make up for the fact that Alejandro's eyes were bloodshot and he wouldn't even look up at anyone. He hadn't spoken a word that Richard had heard.

"I get the feeling you're not all really here today, hmm?"

Richard looked up at Denton guiltily. They were having a fairly important meeting; Denton had worked out their schedule for the next few months, and they were supposed to be discussing what they wanted for the upcoming _Nobody's Puppet_ tour, which still hadn't dropped off Billboard's top ten list.

"Sorry," Nick said, speaking for the band. "So what're we up to?"

"Well, the way I see it, if you guys are willing to get intensive about this, we can get the tour ready to go in a month. It'll mean doing full time choreography, but you've all done that before."

There was a round of nods and a murmur of assent, so he continued, "We'll be working with a few guys on the choreography; you all said you wanted a little more variety in your dances. The combination should be pretty killer."

Richard managed not to groan at Denton's attempt to sound hip. _Killer?_

"And Wayne has also signed up; he's eager for a chance to work with you boys again."

Richard glanced at Chris, expecting a reaction, but Chris didn't say anything. Richard didn't, either, though he wanted to complain. After all, Wayne had stolen Shawna from him, and if he and Shawna hadn't broken up, he and Chris would never have slept together, and Chris and Alejandro would still be together… But complaining would hardly have been professional, and Denton seemed to consider them actual businessmen who would do what it took to stay on top. So they would, they just wouldn't like it.

Richard certainly didn't like it. Not when it brought Wayne back into their lives.

"So…" Denton said. "I'm judging by the silence that you're all either hung over, or something pretty big went down last night. Which is it?"

Nick cleared his throat. "Both, but don't worry, we'll be ready to work."

"Well, good, you start work tomorrow. Any questions?" No one spoke. "Okay, well, I'll be in my office if you guys wanna rap or anything."

Richard glanced over at Chris, who also didn't react to Denton's attempt at slang. And Chris not laughing at other people was not a good sign.

Denton left them alone, and it was the first time that day the five boys had been in one place. No one moved, but no one spoke.

Finally, CJ said, "Well, this sucks."

"That was eloquent, thanks," Alejandro muttered.

"That's what I'm here for, buddy."

"Look," Richard broke in. "We screwed up, we know that. We all still have to work together."

"With _Wayne,"_ Chris muttered.

Alejandro rolled his eyes.

"With all of us," Richard said. "So I just want to say that I'm sorry, and I get that everyone's pissed at me, and you all should be, but I'll… Do my best to still be a professional, and everyone else should, too."

"Out of everyone here, you think it's your place to talk about _professionalism?"_ CJ snapped.

"I'm trying to be mature about this—"

"Good, you be mature, the rest of us are pissed off. Except maybe Alejandro, who's heartbroken. So fuck you," Nick said.

"Hey," Chris said. "He was right about being professionals, okay, so—"

"Chris, you really don't want to be the one to tell the rest of us how to behave today."

"I'm _sorry!"_ Chris yelled. "Jesus Christ, I have never been more sorry about anything in my life! And I'd take back everything last night if I could, but I _can't_ so until I figure out some way to fix this, we're still going to have to_ live_ with each other."

"No, we don't," Alejandro said softly, the first time he'd spoken up; the first time he'd said a word to Chris at all. "One of the nice things about winning our lawsuit is that we can afford to live wherever we want. And I really don't want to live with you right now."

"Alejandro—"

"I'll get an apartment in town, and I have a car; I'll be here on time in the mornings and will still work just as hard. It won't matter."

"It matters to me."

"You'll understand if I'm skeptical about that."

"Alejandro, please," Richard said. "We don't want you to feel like you can't stay here, this is your home."

Alejandro gave him a dull stare, and the knot in his stomach began to twist painfully.

CJ cleared his throat. "This sucks," he repeated. "But we'll support you no matter what you choose, okay, Alejandro?"

Alejandro nodded.

"And we'll keep working together as a group, and smiling for the cameras, because we don't have a choice. It doesn't matter who did what when we're in public. Right?"

More nods.

"Okay. Hey," he turned to Alejandro, "if you want to later, I'll go apartment shopping with you."

"Thanks," Alejandro said, and though he probably meant it, he didn't sound like he was looking forward to it. He sounded miserable.

Chris swallowed. "I meant it," he said, "when I said I'd find a way to make this right."

"Good luck," Nick muttered.

"Maybe it would be easier if you'd mind your own business."

"Maybe I'd mind my own business if you didn't just upset one of my _friends."_

"I thought I was your friend."

"You _were."_

Chris shut up abruptly. Richard's gut began to hurt again. "Excuse me," he said. "I have to go puke."

"Is the hangover worse when you've been drunk for three months straight?" CJ called after him as he hurried out of the room. Richard pretended he hadn't heard.

* * *

Richard had been staring at the TV for the last couple of hours. He didn't know what was on and really, he didn't care. He was only hanging around their living room in the hopes of managing to speak to Alejandro.

By the time he'd emerged from the bathroom after retching until there was nothing left in his stomach, the meeting had broken up. Chris had apparently holed himself up in his room, Nick was busy on the phone with Ryan (or so he assumed by the constant cooing), and CJ and Alejandro had left to go apartment hunting.

Richard had really, _really_ wanted a drink – just a little something, anything to make him feel less wretched – but he wasn't letting himself touch alcohol. The way he saw it, drinking had gotten him into quite enough trouble already.

Just as he was starting to consider working up the energy to reach for the remote control in the hopes that there was something on more entertaining than _Full House_, he heard the sound of the front door opening and closing again with a quiet _snick_. It sounded like CJ and Alejandro were back, and they were trying to be as silent as possible.

He waited, knowing that they would have to walk through the room to get to the stairs. It took a couple of minutes – evidently, they noticed that someone was in the room watching _Full House_, and neither one particularly wanted to deal with that. However, they didn't have much of a choice, and after a long moment, CJ poked his head into the room.

"Hey," Richard greeted him awkwardly.

CJ nodded in return.

"Um, how was apartment hunting?"

"We found a couple of decent places." CJ shrugged. "Nothing definite yet."

"Oh. Uh, okay." Richard paused. "So… Uh… Do you think Alejandro would talk to me?"

"Hmmm. _No_."

Richard exhaled, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. "Well, he's going to have to walk through here sooner or later… Unless you're stalling for time while he shimmies up the drainpipe."

"Rich, he just doesn't want to talk, okay?"

"Can he listen?"

"You should back off," CJ said quietly, but not without a hint of warning in his voice.

"For the love of…" Richard trailed off. "Look, CJ, Alejandro's a big boy. Can he at least tell me himself that he doesn't want to talk to me?"

"I thought he'd made that pretty damn clear earlier."

"Okay, well, we're going to have to talk sooner or later. If he never wants to talk to me again after this conversation, _fine_, but I want him to hear what I have to say."

There was an irritated sigh from behind CJ, and Alejandro stepped into the room, still avoiding Richard's gaze.

"Well?" he asked, arms folded. "You've got something to say, say it."

"Right. Well, uh…" Richard reached for the remote quickly and shut off the TV. He'd rehearsed what he wanted to say, but the words came out too quickly and a little garbled. "Uh, first, I know how I felt when Shawna cheated on me, so I'm _really_ sorry, and I can't believe that I would ever do that to a friend. I really am disgusted with myself here."

"If you understand that, then you also understand why I don't want to talk to you."

"I do, I – Yeah, but just hear me out, okay? Not letting Shawna apologize was one of the stupidest things I ever did – last night excepted, of course – and really, looking back at it, I would do anything to have worked it out and to have listened to her so, uh, from experience, you really should talk to Chris."

"Well, clearly you didn't learn anything else from experience, like, say, oh, I don't know, _sleeping with someone in a relationship is bad_."

"I was _getting_ to that!" Richard said, attempting somewhat unsuccessfully to not whine. "I know, I was wrong, but you need to keep in mind that _I_ was wrong, and it was really all my fault. Really. Chris was just, uh, well, he didn't know what to do when you were mad. I was the one who gave him the drink and the one who brought him to the hotel room and the one who… Uhhhh… Theonewhostartedthings."

Alejandro stared at him.

"I mean, obviously I was smashed out of my mind too, or I never would have done it, but I need you to know that I've decided to stop drinking and I haven't had a drink all day, even though I really, _really_ wanted to. And I barely even _remember_ what happened. I just know it was my fault so you should consider that and hate me and forgive Chris."

"That's a nice thing you're trying to do for him," Alejandro said flatly, "and I appreciate you being honest, but… Chris cheated on me. There's no way around that."

"But it was _my_ fault! I was as – as bad as he always accused Wayne of being, with my 'come here, innocent little boy, I have alcohol!'"

Alejandro blinked. "What?"

Richard gestured helplessly. "Never mind. Just… It was my fault, it really was. If there's anything I can do…"

"I think you've done enough." Alejandro paused. "If Chris had actually loved me, no matter how drunk he was, he would have said no."

"Are you _sure_?" Richard asked desperately. "I mean, he was really, _really_ drunk."

"Yeah. I'm sure. But I appreciate you being honest."

"So…" Richard stared at the floor. "Are you never going to talk to me again?"

"At some point, probably," Alejandro replied. "Just… give me a while."

"Whenever you're ready. But I really am seriously done drinking for a while."

"Good." Alejandro nodded, then resumed his walk upstairs.

CJ, who had stood silently while Richard and Alejandro spoke, now cleared his throat.

Richard wearily glanced over at him. "Gonna yell some more?"

"No, I think you've been yelled at enough." CJ almost smiled. "For today, at least."

"Gee, _thanks_."

"Well…" CJ shrugged. "You tried."

* * *

It was four days later when they first met with Wayne, and the previous night was the first one Alejandro had spent on his own in the new apartment. It had been lonely and he'd had trouble sleeping, but at least he wasn't bothered by people wanting to talk, and the haunted looks Chris kept giving him every time he walked down the hall. Of course he still had to spend most of his day at the house, but it would probably be a little relief in the evenings.

Wayne had grown his hair out a little and had it gelled back, but the sweat was basically counteracting the gel and it kept falling in his eyes. "Hey, can I borrow a bandanna tomorrow?" he asked Alejandro during a five minute water break.

"Sure."

He glanced around. "Everything okay around here? You guys usually talk more than this. And joke and stuff. I mean, I know Richard, uh, hates my guts and hopes that I die, and Chris has never liked me for some reason, but usually you guys seem to be all… brotherly."

Alejandro shrugged. "Times change."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"I really wish people would stop asking me that."

"Okay, I get it." Wayne nodded. "Whatever it is, it's screwing up Chris's rhythm."

"What rhythm?" Alejandro muttered to himself.

Wayne laughed. "So you and Chris have a fight? Some of the things I hear through the grapevine about you two…"

"Well, if the grapevine was Shawna, she needs to keep her mouth shut. And her legs closed, but that one's none of my business," Richard said from over Alejandro's shoulder.

Wayne rolled his eyes. "I think that's our cue to get back to work," he said, giving Richard a very bright, very fake smile.

As they worked on their routine in the mirror, Alejandro learned it easily and found himself glancing at Chris's reflection. Wayne was right; Chris's rhythm was off. It wasn't just the dance steps, which he was having enough trouble with, but he seemed to have forgotten how to count to sixteen. But Alejandro shrugged that off; if Chris was too upset by other things, it was his own fault.

When they were finishing up for the day, he caught up with Wayne as Wayne began to tie his sneakers to head off.

"So how're we looking?"

"Well, you're some kind of prodigy, and everyone else… It's just the first day, they'll get it."

"So they didn't manage to drive you off?"

Wayne laughed. "I'm getting paid enough money to put up with Richard _and_ Chris."

"Must be a lot."

"Uh, yeah."

"Enough to take a nice guy out to dinner?"

Wayne stared at him for a second, then nodded. "Yeah, I think I could probably cough up for that. Why, you know any nice guys?"

"I've got a new apartment and haven't had anyone around to see it yet. If you wanted to do dinner, I could give you the grand tour afterwards."

"Well, _you've_ grown up since we last worked together."

"Yeah, I have."

"So… sure, what the hell. We should both go shower, but I'll meet you wherever you want downtown."

"Great." Alejandro smiled as they made plans and walked out together, seeing Chris's reflection in the mirror behind him. And he wasn't proud of how satisfying it was to see Chris staring after him, heartbroken.

But Chris didn't say anything when Alejandro and Wayne arrived together for work early the next morning, with Wayne driving and still wearing the clothes he'd left in the previous day.


	18. Eighteen

Eighteen. 

"Just remember, it's none of your business," Richard said.

"He's wearing the same clothes."

"Chris, you two are broken up—"

"He never said that."

"I think when he asked out Wayne, that was a pretty big clue."

Chris glowered at the door Wayne had just exited, on his way for a bathroom break. He sighed and took a drink of water. "I can't believe he'd do that."

"Which one of them?"

Chris snorted. "Wayne will do anything that moves."

"Yeah, no kidding." Richard groaned. "Our lives would be so much better without Wayne."

"I hate him."

"Me, too."

Chris cast a glance at Alejandro, who was fixing his bandanna in the opposite corner. It was impossible to even guess what was going through Alejandro's mind; he didn't look blank, but he no longer looked agonized, either. He was just focused on learning the choreography.

"I'm going to talk to—"

"Bad idea, Chris," Richard interrupted.

"He slept with Wayne to hurt me, so we're even—"

"Uh, no. Chris, he's still mad, this will take time."

"But if I could just _talk_ to him and get _through_ to him, he'd have to understand. Everything would be _okay,_ if I could just get through to him!"

"Chris…" Richard sighed. "Things are messed up, and they don't just… magically get better. And he has a right to be pissed, you know."

_"Yeah,_ I do. It wasn't all my fault, though." He glared at Richard, who shrugged.

"I owned up to my mistake. I apologized."

"So did I!"

"Shh, you're making a scene," Richard hissed. "It's easier for him to forgive me; he didn't care about me that much. He loved you."

"He never said that."

"Yeah, well, I never said it to Shawna. Doesn't mean it wasn't true."

"Well, I'm _not_ Shawna and I'm not the one who slept with… With…"

Wayne stepped back into the room. "So, we all rested up?" No one answered, and he shrugged. "Okay, well, let's get to it. Chris, we'll go through the last section again—"

"I got it."

"You were still off by two beats, it's okay. You know the moves, it's just the timing—"

"I _said_, I got it. We can move on."

Wayne shook his head. "I'm kind of in charge here, and you really don't have the timing; everything will fall apart in the next section if you guys aren't together. Trust me, this is what I do."

"Among other things."

"You know, if you have something to say to me, just say it. I'm sick of you acting like a spoiled little kid when you're supposed to be a professional."

Chris stared at him for a second, then caught himself quickly. "Well, where do you want me to start?" he demanded. "Was it when you slept with Shawna Rivers, who the whole world knew was in a relationship with my best friend?"

"It takes two to tango, Chris."

"Chris," Richard said quickly. "I don't want to—"

"No, I want to know what he thought he was doing. Is it _professional_ to sleep with your _coworkers? Employers?_ Does that meet your standards of professionalism, Wayne?"

"Who I sleep with is none of your business. And yes, I slept with Shawna; it was her idea. Sorry, Rich."

"Please, stop—"

"—and yes, I slept with Alejandro."

The silence at that was tangible. Everyone stared at Alejandro, and Chris could see how uncomfortable Alejandro was.

"Okay," Nick said, jumping in to the quiet, "well, we've all said some things here that are a little too far, but why don't we just get to work?"

"All I said was the truth," Wayne said coldly. "And Chris, I _am_ a professional. It's just that some people here actually get the choreography, and I don't have to baby them. If you want me gone, I'll quit; I don't need this job. I have other gigs."

Chris started to answer, and CJ jumped in. "No, that's _fine,_ we know that. You can tell things here are a bit weird, but we're here to work, anyway, so it doesn't matter. Let's go."

Wayne nodded, and finally Chris did too. But he was staring at Alejandro, who was staring off at nothing. Maybe he was reading too much into it, but Alejandro also looked a little bit… guilty.

* * *

"Hey, Wayne," Alejandro called, as Wayne headed to his car.

"You want a ride home?"

"Uh…" Alejandro shook his head no. "Sorry, I just… things got worse than I thought they would. I'm sorry to stick you in the… the middle like that."

Wayne shrugged. "Didn't bother me any. Chris never liked me, and it was good to get the whole Shawna problem out in the air. So… you and Chris?"

"There is no me and Chris."

"There was until recently, I gather?"

"Yeah."

"Well." Wayne chuckled, and gave him a pat on the back. "You want to make him madder? I'm free tonight."

"No," Alejandro said quickly. "I—that is—I'm sorry, it's not your fault, I just wasn't… I wasn't ready to start… To see anyone yet. It's too soon and it would destroy the band."

"You don't need 'em."

"Yes, I do," Alejandro said. "I just… Things are bad right now, but when I stop hating Chris they'll get better if I don't make them _worse._ I'm sorry I… I led you on."

Wayne almost choked, laughing. "No problem. You're a cute guy, Alejandro, I had fun. And… I'll see you all in a few days. Hopefully Chris will have cooled off."

"Yeah… bye."

Wayne shrugged. "If you change your mind, give me a call."

Alejandro didn't answer, just watched Wayne drive away, then looked back to the porch, where CJ was waiting. CJ had agreed to drive him home, when he'd said he didn't want a ride with Wayne.

"Ready to go?" CJ asked.

"Uh… One minute, I have to do something."

CJ raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything as Alejandro let himself back into the house. Chris was right inside, standing guiltily by the window. Alejandro rolled his eyes; he had figured Chris was watching, but didn't realize he'd be so blatant about it.

"So," Alejandro said.

"Oh, so now you're talking to me?"

"Only temporarily." Alejandro shifted a little bit, feeling uncomfortable. "Look, I just—I want you to know that Wayne…"

"Is a dick? I figured that out without sleeping with him."

"I was going to say that I was sorry. I just wondered what it felt like to be _you_ for awhile, and to be able to do things like that without thinking, or caring, what it would do to the people around me. But I'm not like that, and I just feel dirty, and I don't like him. So I'm sorry."

"Like…" Chris stared. "Like, _sorry-_sorry?"

"No. Sorry I went out of my way to hurt you, and sorry I sunk to your level. I don't have anything else to be sorry _about._ If you recall."

"Well, Jesus, I appreciate you lowering yourself for long enough to talk to me. I guess that means you're dumping me, huh? Nice of you to finally say so."

"I thought it was pretty clear, but, well, you never were the bright one." He paused. "Wait, that hurt you again, didn't it? Gosh, Chris, I'm sorry."

"You're a real jerk, Alejandro. I didn't think you were, but I guess I _was_ stupid about that."

"_I'm_ the jerk? You—forget it. This is stupid, I don't want to fight. I'm sorry I slept with Wayne. I still hate you. That's all I had to say."

"If you hate me, why are you sorry at all?"

"If you cared about me, why did you sleep with Richard?"

"I was drunk!"

"And I was mad. Now it's a calm kind of loathing. I'll see you tomorrow."

Alejandro didn't wait for him to answer this time, and started towards the door. Chris hesitated, then, "Wait, Alejandro—please. I just want to—I feel so bad and I know that doesn't make up for what I did, but I _do."_

"Good," Alejandro said, over his shoulder.

"What do I have to do?" Chris pleaded. "I'd do anything to fix this, anything, you _know_ I would. Please… I need you."

Alejandro hesitated, his resolve crumbling, but then he remembered the sight of Chris in bed with Richard, too drunk to even notice him in the doorway, and shook his head. "Some things you just can't fix."

Chris was silent. It seemed as though there was nothing left to say. Alejandro didn't wait for him to try. He squared his shoulders and walked outside.

* * *

"Dammit, Chris!" CJ said, but the words were too tired to have any real bite to them. "A month we've been doing this. A _month_!"

Instead of responding, Chris tilted his water bottle to his mouth and took several deep gulps.

"Why can't you _get_ this?" Nick asked. "The steps aren't that hard!"

"Look," Chris finally said, still out of breath, "I'm doing the best I can and… Oh. Yeah. _My_ part's harder than _yours_, besides the fact that I have to _sing_ at the same time. You want to switch places with me?"

"You? Give up attention?" Nick muttered.

"It's not my fault that no one pays attention to you except Ryyyyyyyaaaaaan, and no one pays attention to him in _his_ band _either_!" Chris snapped.

It was a lucky thing for Chris that CJ was nearby. Had he not caught Nick in mid-lunge, Chris would probably have wound up black and blue.

"Okay, guys," CJ said, still holding onto a struggling Nick, "I know that we're all tired and frustrated and everything, and we're sick of rehearsing, but we _really_ need to try to hold onto our tempers."

"I'll hold onto my temper when he learns to shut his mouth," Nick snarled, but he did stop struggling.

"I'll shut my mouth when you stop bitching at me about every single time I'm a _teensy_ bit off the beat," Chris replied.

"A teensy bit? You call _that _a teensy bit? You nearly killed Richard with your flailing!"

"Hey," Richard called from the other side of the stage, "leave me out of this. I'm none the worse for the wear."

"Yeah, see?" Chris said. "Richard's _fine_. No one but you guys would even notice if I'm having a little trouble with the dancing."

"They'll notice for sure if you fall off the stage again."

"That only happened _once_, and it was because _you_ kept pushing me!" Chris countered.

"We really don't have time for this," CJ said, "since we open _tomorrow_."

Neither Chris nor Nick listened to him.

"I wasn't pushing you. I was where I was _supposed_ to be, and you were _off_."

"I was like two inches from where I was supposed to be."

"Maybe next time I'll push harder," Nick said.

"Jesus _Christ, _Nick, what did I do to _you?_ You've been a—you haven't cut me a break all _month_ and I'm sick of it!" He shook his head in disgust. "I get that I messed up, okay, and it messed up things around here. But the only person who has the right to treat me like that is Alejandro, and he's _not,_ so you should back off and get over it."

"I have the _right_ to treat you however I _want—"_

"Hey," Alejandro said, finally getting involved. It _had_ been a month, after all; he didn't like getting involved in anyone else's fight, but since Chris had brought it up, all the stress between band members had happened because of their break up. Nick seemed to be even more angry than Alejandro was; Alejandro could only assume that it was because Nick had tried so hard to get them together. But even so, he didn't have the right…

"We should get back to work," CJ said.

"Why bother?" Nick muttered. "We can run the show again, but he's not going to suddenly know his choreography."

"I know it _fine._"

"Then why do you always mess it up?"

"That's enough," Alejandro snapped, and Nick fell silent, but didn't look happy about it. Alejandro turned to Chris. "The problem is the middle of the song; you get off and can't recover, so by the end you're… Several beats behind," he said diplomatically.

Chris didn't answer; he didn't know what to say. It was the most Alejandro had said to him at any one time in weeks.

"Let's go through that middle section," Alejandro said. "And figure out where you get off, okay? We can still fix it."

Chris hesitated, then nodded. "Don't tell me you're going soft."

"I'm tired of everyone screaming all the time," Alejandro answered. "And screaming hasn't fixed anything, so…"

Chris nodded, and Nick grumbled but nodded. Richard walked over to join them, and Alejandro looked back at their stage manager. "We're going to run just this one—slow, no band. Okay?"

"Whatever," the very tired manager answered. "I'll have everyone take twenty."

"Thanks." Alejandro turned to Chris. "Let's go to the end of the first chorus and do that verse and the bridge. It's somewhere in there."

Chris nodded again, and they all took their spots. Alejandro moved them through it very slowly, and in slow motion Chris was fine. When they sped up, Alejandro caught his misstep immediately; there was a quick combination where he never managed to land on the right foot and it got him half a beat off going into one of the jumps; jumping too quickly screwed him up on the landing, and recovering from the landing had him off completely.

"One thing at a time," Alejandro said, taking a deep breath. "Let's do it again."

* * *

"Hey," Chris said, stopping Alejandro as he headed towards the parking lot. It was impossibly late at night, and they'd finally finished their very last run through of the concert set. Thanks to Alejandro's patience, Chris had actually gotten the dance number correct, finally.

"Hey," Alejandro said tiredly.

"You heading home?"

"Uh… yeah." He shifted his bag to his other shoulder.

"Yeah, me too… Tired."

"Yeah."

"So, um, I just wanted to… I guess say thank you. For helping me tonight."

Alejandro shrugged. "You needed it." But he half-smiled as he said it.

"I know I did. I just… Man, Nick was driving me _insane_ and I hate it when he's right because I can't do any of these stupid dances and… yeah, well. Anyway. Um, just, thanks."

"No problem." He paused. "I, uh, should get going. Before I pass out from exhaustion."

"Yeah, me too. 'Night."

"'Night."

Alejandro started to walk off again, and Chris started laughing. "Hey, Alejandro!" he called.

"What?"

"You realize we just kind of had a conversation."

Alejandro gave him a sarcastic thumbs up, and Chris grinned.

"What? It's the first time in a month, that's noteworthy!"

"Mark your calendar, Chris. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, good night. Get some good sleep, we have an audience tomorrow!"

Chris could see Alejandro shaking his head, either in bemusement or… something else… but Alejandro didn't seem angry, finally. It had only taken a month.

* * *

Two weeks in to the tour, Chris finally seemed to know the choreography as well as the rest of the band. Performing for an audience always helped him concentrate, and two weeks of doing shows had drilled the dance into his head. Even Nick had stopped griping about it.

Alejandro was thankful for that, if nothing else. He was sitting off on a couch at the side of a crowded room, a wine glass in his hand, but he wasn't really drinking it. It was one of the record label's parties; they weren't always fun, but the band was required to show up. So were most of the other major names on the label, though the Uptown Boyz had gotten out of it—the gossip said that Sean would quit the band if he was forced into a room with the V-Tones. Ryan had shown up on his own, though. Not that Alejandro was surprised. He and Nick had disappeared almost an hour previously, and though Alejandro was curious about where they had gone, he really didn't want to know, since he was pretty sure of what they were doing there.

"Whoo, you look hot in that tux Alex."

He looked up to see Shawna Rivers holding a martini glass and wearing a barely-there green dress. "Thanks," he said. "You're a little drunk," he added.

"Well, there _is_ an open bar," she answered. "Anyway, I hate being sober when Richard is around."

"I'm sure he feels similarly."

"Did he really go to rehab?" she asked, flouncing down on the couch next to him. "'Cause I heard he was so heartbroken over me he had to go to rehab."

"I don't think they have rehab for broken hearts."

"I hear _you_ could use one of them, though." She poked his shoulder and giggled.

"You're trashed," he said.

"Well, _yes._ It's so much more fun this way!"

"If you say so."

"See, you don't look like you're having fun and I know you're not drinking anything. I'll go get you something."

"I really don't want a drink," he said, and gestured with his wine glass. "Anyway, I'm set, thanks."

"Please," she scoffed. "God, these parties are depressing. A bunch of suits trying to kiss up to other guys in suits and a bunch of celebrities who are all drunk."

"Well, you could break that pattern by not drinking," he suggested.

"Yes, but then I'd have to deal with all of the suits _hitting_ on me. At least when I'm drunk I can tell them they're hideous and they assume I'm just an alcoholic, not a bitch."

"Which you… are?"

"You think so? I don't think so, but Richard thinks I am."

"Well, you did cheat on him." It occurred to Alejandro that he'd never really had a conversation with Shawna before, and that she was drunk enough to make talking to her rather interesting. At least he didn't feel like he had to watch what he said so closely.

"God, when is he going to get over that?" she scoffed. "I mean, _god."_

"It's not something he can just get over," Alejandro said.

"Please. If Richard wanted to, he could forget it in a heartbeat. He's a showbiz person too, he knows how that works. He just likes feeling all superior to me. Such a prick, he always was. Even when we were kids. _God."_

"You know, I really don't feel comfortable discussing this."

"Which is why you need to loosen up, you didn't even _notice_ that I called you hot." She rolled her eyes. "Most guys would be, like, all over me by now."

"Sorry, I don't swing that way."

"I know, you and Chris, right? Who'd you sell your soul to to keep _that_ out of the papers?"

He shrugged. "We managed to be pretty discreet."

"Well, you're not flaming like Nick, but, like, _god."_

"Yeah. Like… god," he repeated.

She laughed. "See, you're funny, you just take things too seriously. Like Chris." She rolled her eyes. "I hear he and Rich…"

"I don't want to talk about that."

"I can't believe Rich _slept_ with him, I mean, ew, I mean, no offense. He's just not Rich's type, he likes hot blondes." She giggled and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

"I'm pretty sure that Chris qualifies as a hot blond."

"Well, yeah, but he's so _young._ And, like, so… he's worse than _me,_ even."

"Worse at what, exactly?"

"Aw, you're defensive, that's so _cute._ You're still hung up on him, aren't you!"

"You're not still hung up on Richard?"

"God, I am so over him."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I am, why doesn't anyone believe me? Jeez, does a girl have to get married to prove she's over someone? God."

"Were you planning to get married?"

"You asking me?" she answered. "'Cause Rich and Chris would both freak out and that would be, like, hilarious. And you're gay, so you could cheat on me, and I'm not, so I could cheat on you, and we could, like, gossip about our boyfriends. Aw, Alejandro, let's get married."

"How trashed _are_ you, exactly?"

She giggled. "Not as trashed as I sound, promise. A girl can want companionship, can't she? All I want is someone to _talk_ to. God."

Alejandro was pretty sure that if she said the word 'god' again, he was going to kill her, but instead he shrugged. "Well, you're Shawna Rivers, I'm pretty sure you can talk to anyone you want."

"Oh, so not true. I can talk, sure, but no one _listens,_ they're too, like, hung up on me being Shawna Rivers. Like, no one cares what I say, they just pretend because I'm _me."_

"Did Richard listen?"

"Yes, like, for hours. He just let me talk as long as I'd sleep with him after. And Rich is pretty hot, so, whatever. At least he pretended to care."

"I'm sure he cared," Alejandro said. "I mean, he… He was crushed when you and Wayne…"

"Yeah, I feel bad," she said. "I mean, Wayne's so… He's hot and all but he just made me feel kinda… dirty, and not in a fun way."

"Oh, believe me, I know."

"Yeah? You know? You and… You and Wayne hooked up? God!"

"I'm sorry, Shawna, I'm not really very religious but could you maybe fixate on another word?"

"What?"

"Never mind," he sighed.

"So you and Wayne? Like, you had sex?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, hot. I thought you were, like, a virgin."

"Uh… nope."

"How many?"

"What?"

"How many?" she asked. "And groupies don't count, come on. You're the first person who's, like, talked to me in forever. Come on, I won't tell."

"How many…?"

"How many guys have you had sex with? Duh, Alex."

"Um… Two?"

"Wayne and Chris? That's so _cute!"_

He nodded bitterly. "Yeah, that's exactly what it is. Cute."

"So like, why did you and Chris break up? I heard you two were, like, gonna move to Massachusetts and adopt three Asian kids or something."

"Boy, did you hear that one wrong." He laughed a little and took a sip of his drink, feeling a little bit better. Shawna may have been drunk, but she was fun; at least she wasn't playing mind games and he didn't have to guard every word he said around her. And there was something a little bit fun about talking about his ex-boyfriend. Just a little. He wasn't proud of that, though.

"So what's the deal, then? You two weren't head over heels?"

"We were… I was."

"So what, he dumped you? Brother, you can do better."

"Uh… thanks, but actually, I dumped him."

"Good, you can _so_ do better. God, you're cute." She giggled. "Why'd you dump him?"

"Um… You're kidding, right?"

"No, come on. Like, everyone said you two were made for each other."

"Who said that, exactly?"

"You know, people. I hear things. From people who know people. Chris's hair dresser. Oh, and Ryan told me."

"And Ryan would have heard from Nick, right, I'll have to remember to discuss that with him later."

"Oh, just spill it." She punched his arm playfully. "This is so great, we're like girlfriends."

"Except that I'm a boy."

"Well, yes, obviously. I could totally be your faghag."

"Or we could get married to throw the press off."

"You wanna?"

"I was _kidding."_

"Me, _too._ So spill it, you and Chris broke up, because…?"

"You don't know? For real?" She shook her head no. "Um, you said yourself. Chris… Richard… Sex… Ring a bell?"

"Yeah, so?"

He stared.

"What?"

"Um, Chris had sex with Richard while he and I were together."

"And?"

"And… that's what we call 'cheating' and 'unforgivable.'"

"Please. It's _Chris._ What did you expect?"

"I expected him to be faithful to me."

"That's so cute." She tweaked his nose. "That's like, Richard. God, he expected so much from me. I'm not perfect, you know."

"I got that impression, yes. But there's a difference between being prefect and… and hurting someone you supposedly care about."

"Yeah, but you knew what you were getting into. Like Richard knew, he never should have freaked. God, I could kill him for wrecking things between us."

"_He_ wrecked things? You slept with Wayne, and _he_ wrecked things?"

"Um… yes? I wanted to just forget it, but no, _Richard_ had to go be all offended, like it meant something or something."

"When someone you're in love with betrays you, that means something."

"Oh, sweetie," she cooed. "Let me explain something to you, about me and Chris, and Richard when he's not trying to be all morally superior." She rolled her eyes. "He's hot, but so self-righteous, god. And he's just like me and Chris beneath it all."

"What do you mean?"

"Alejandro, come on. You've seen Chris. Haven't you seen him, like… preening? Like, the boy can't look away from the mirror for three seconds. I bet he watched the mirror when you two had sex."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I bet he _did_. The thing is, honestly, that's not his fault. He grew up, like, surrounded by people who always said they adored him, who, like, only cared about looks and stuff like that, you know. It's not exactly normal."

"No kidding."

"But, like, it's like being a princess. In a tower, right?"

"What?"

"So everyone says they love you all the time, no matter what you do, so you don't, like, that is, no one tells you, no, you shouldn't do that. And when people get pissed off at you, they just disappear. Poof, just like that. 'Cause the whole world is about you."

"The world isn't really about… you," he said.

"Well, yeah, it is, and Chris's world is about him, and Richard's world is about _him._ That's the way we are. I mean, Rich likes to pretend he's so normal and all, and I know I'm all screwed up, I mean, god, I _divorced_ my _mom._ But Chris doesn't even realize most of the time, he thinks everyone's like him."

"That still doesn't give him the right to… to betray me."

"Yeah, but, like, he didn't realize what he was doing. He wanted Rich that night, he got Rich, he didn't realize that it meant he couldn't have you, too. And if you didn't know that about him, you must not be as smart as he says all the time. I mean, it's kind of obvious."

"He and I had a relationship. That's about two people. _Two._ Not just him."

"Yeah, well, the most normal relationship Chris has been in was on TV, and even that was, you know, _TV._ Totally fake. He doesn't know how to be in a relationship. He probably doesn't even know why you dumped him."

"Believe me, he knows."

"Yeah, but does he get it? God. It's like Richard, he expected all this stuff from me. Like, from day one, he wanted it to be _real_ and I just don't do real."

"You'd rather be a princess in a… styrofoam tower? It's all just fake."

"Yeah, I know. But at least I'm a princess. And like, if Rich had done that to me, whatever. He's almost as bad as me underneath it all. I'd have been like, whatever, and we'd have moved on. But _no,_ he has to make it in to some big deal."

"You really don't think it's a big deal? Because Chris _knew._ He knew how I felt, and if he didn't feel the same way, he was lying to me; and if he did, he should have known better."

"So, like, if you're all so in love with him or whatever, why'd you let him go?"

"He cheated on me."

"Yeah, but you love him. Jeez, lighten up, Alex, god. Either love him or don't but don't blame him for you not getting it."

"I'm not the one who—" He stopped and composed himself. "Well, thanks, Shawna, this has been… enlightening."

"Aw, don't go run off, who else am I gonna use to keep the perverts who work here away? God, one of them totally tried to feel me up at the bar. Like, _ew."_

"I think you can take care of yourself, somehow. Just try talking to him next time, I bet his head will just about explode." He stood up. "Anyway, it was nice… it was _interesting_ talking to you, we should do it again sometime."

"Yeah, totally."

He finished his wine and left the glass on a table as he walked away, looking for Chris. It wasn't hard to pick him out of a crowd, given how few real blonds there were, and he was standing over by the bar, having a drink and talking to one of the suits. Alejandro had no real idea who any of the executives at the party were, even though they kept coming up to congratulate him on the record and tour sales. No wonder Shawna had wanted to get away from them.

He ordered another drink and waited for Chris to start to sound awkward, like he was trying to find a polite escape from the conversation. Alejandro cleared his throat and walked up. "Hey, Chris, I've been looking all over for you." He turned to the suit. "Sorry, it's a band thing, nice to meet you."

He steered Chris away and to a corner where Chris couldn't bolt, and no one could really interrupt them. "…Hi," Chris said, sounding confused.

"Hey," Alejandro said. "Do you… have a minute?"

"If you can keep those guys away from me, yes, absolutely. God, they're creepy, I think one of them was trying to grope me."

Alejandro blinked. "Well, that was a little _déjà vu,_" he said.

"What?"

"Nothing, just… I was thinking."

"Shocking. You _never_ do that," Chris said, and it was clear from his voice he was trying a little too hard to joke around. But Alejandro understood.

"I know, so I unleashed the mighty power of my brain on, you know… our situation. And Shawna provided some surprising insight."

"Shawna? Really?"

"No, not really. Well, kind of. A little. Anyway, what I was thinking was…" He hesitated. "Look, I can't lie. You hurt me really, really badly. Worse than I'd ever been hurt before."

Chris's face fell. "Look, if you're just going to scold me, I already know. I suck at life, I can't keep a relationship, I'm a horrible person. That's been made more than clear, so, please. Don't."

"What I was saying was that I can't lie about that, and it means I can't… I can't trust you like that again. I don't ever want to hurt like that again. But I really miss you… As a friend. As someone I can joke with and talk to and… all of that. And I miss the band being friends and not wanting to kill each other."

"Yeah, you and me both. We're almost as bad as the Uptown Boyz, I swear."

"I wouldn't go _that_ far. But…" He shrugged. "I'm done being mad at you. I want to be friends again."

Chris grinned at him. "Well, it took you long enough. I missed you, too."

"But just friends," Alejandro reminded him.

"Yeah, it's probably safer that way. I wouldn't want to go through all of _that_ again."

"You think we would? Honestly?"

"Well, I wouldn't sleep with Richard again, no. But let's be real. I'd screw it up. I screw everything up."

Alejandro raised an eyebrow. "You're waiting for me to say that's not true, aren't you?"

"Too much to hope for so soon?"

"A little bit."

"Well, it was worth a shot." Chris laughed. "I'm glad you're… doing better. Do I really have Shawna to thank for this?"

"She's a little drunk, I doubt she'll remember in the morning."

They lapsed into an awkward silence, which Alejandro supposed was only to be expected, considering that they'd barely spoken for over a month.

"So…" Chris said finally. "You can let me out of this corner now."

"Oh, right." Alejandro stood aside so Chris had a little more breathing room, and they stood side by side for a minute.

"Well, this is weird."

"Just a little."

As they were standing silently, neither one quite sure what to say, someone else sidled up next to Chris. Alejandro recognized her a little; she was one of the several Shawna-wannabes the label had signed in the wake of Shawna's popularity. He didn't remember which one she was, but Chris seemed to.

"Hey, you're Chris Ivers," she said, smiling playfully.

"Look at that, so I am."

"I love your music. And I like your moves."

"My moves?" he repeated, smirking. "On the dance floor or off?"

"Well, I haven't seen them off the dance floor… yet."

"You sound eager," he said.

"I feel a little ill," Alejandro muttered to himself.

Chris laughed. "Don't mind Alejandro, he just doesn't know how to have a good time."

"Not like you?" she said.

"Nothing like me. We'll, uh, catch you later, Alejandro."

Alejandro just stared as they walked off. It wasn't that he was jealous, exactly, it was more that he didn't think even Chris could be that insensitive.

* * *

Somehow, Nick and Ryan had managed to sneak into Nick's hotel room without being noticed. They knew it was sheer luck, and they'd have some interesting explaining to do to get Ryan out the next morning, but Nick was pretty sure they could manage it. And it would be worth it to get to spend a night together like a normal couple.

CJ threw open the door to Nick's room angrily. "Okay, I've had it," he snapped.

Nick sat up, sweaty and shirtless, clutching the covers. "Uh, a little busy here, CJ!"

"Yeah, whatever. Hi, Ryan."

"…Hi…" Ryan said from under the sheets.

"Could you maybe come back later? We're kind of… in the middle of… You know… Get out?"

"Whatever, Ryan can give you head any time, I'm having kind of a best friend crisis here that you're supposed to care about."

"Well, for one thing he can't, and for another… Ten minutes, seriously, I swear."

CJ shook his head. "It's because I'm your ex, isn't it? Ryan, he's not worth it, I promise."

"CJ. _Swifty._ Go. Away."

"Oh, harsh."

"Leave!"

"I haven't managed to kill the mood yet? …Ryan didn't suffocate down there, did he?"

"CJ!"

"God, the look on your face right now is brilliant. Ryan, you should see this. And come up for air, fella, this might take a few minutes."

"I want you to know that I genuinely hope you never have sex again."

"Well, considering the people you've been fixing me up with, it looks like you might get your wish. Can I sit down now?"

The sheets rustled and finally Ryan emerged at the head of the bed. "If we let him talk, will he go away?"

"I promise," CJ said.

"I'm going to go shower." Ryan kissed Nick quickly. "Feel free to join me when you're done here."

CJ glanced around and noted the undergarments on the floor. He raised an eyebrow and waited for Ryan to get out of bed. Ryan glared at him, grabbed a pillow, and used it to shield himself as he stalked to the bathroom.

"I really hate you, CJ."

"No, you don't. Well…" CJ cocked his head, considering. "Maybe you do. Are you trying to set me up with morons and zombies? Because so far, I have yet to go out with anyone who can form a complete sentence other than, 'Hey, you know Chris Ivers, don't you?'"

"You interrupted me and Ryan," Nick said slowly, "to complain about your crappy dating life?"

"Yes, because if I'm not getting any, buddy ol' pal, I really don't care if you aren't, either."

"Nice to see you have compassion for your fellow man."

"Look, all I want is a normal person. Is that so much to ask? Don't you know any of those? Someone who isn't cross eyed and has most of his or her own teeth and little to no silicone implanted anywhere, who can count to ten and go for a minute and a half without mentioning Chris or Richard? Is it that hard?"

"If it's so easy, why don't you find someone yourself?"

"Because every person I talk to immediately wants to know Richard's phone number. Are you doing this to me on purpose because I'm your ex? Seriously."

"You are paranoid."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I'm wrong, does it? Because this has gone past coincidence."

"You're imagining things. Just loosen up, you'll meet someone. Now, if that's all, I have a very hot boyfriend in the shower and I'd like to go make the fact that you interrupted us up to him."

"You're so selfish."

"You're a freak."

"I'm serious."

"You didn't even knock when you got here."

"Well, you didn't lock the door." CJ groaned. "Do you know when the last time I had sex was?"

"It was two nights ago with a groupie."

"Okay, do you know when the last time I had sex I cared about was? Like, with _you._ You cursed me! I swear to god! Ryan, watch out, he curses people!"

Ryan answered something from the shower, but CJ couldn't make out the words. He didn't really have to; the general tone was enough.

Nick sighed. "Look, I'm doing the best I can. I'm not trying to set you up on bad dates, and I'll, like, get references for the next one. If you still want me to find a next one."

"Well, yeah, of course."

"Okay. Is there anything else I can do for you, or can I go…" He nodded urgently towards the bathroom.

"Well, if you wanted to pal around and watch a movie or something—"

"Get out."

"Going… _Bye,_ Ryan! Nick, seriously, I'm lonely."

"I know. We'll find you someone, don't worry. You're my best friend, I won't let you down."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay." CJ took a deep breath. "I'm going to go watch Skinemax and see if I can con one of the girls from room service into anything."

"Okay, have fun with that. I'm going to go shower."

"Thanks for that mental image, Nicky. 'Night."

"Good_night,_ CJ."

CJ let himself out, and this time he distinctly heard the sound of the door locking behind him.

* * *

When Chris got up the next morning and walked into the suite's common room, Alejandro was already up. He was dangling his spoon in a bowl of Cheerios, but didn't look like he'd eaten too much.

"'Morning," Chris said.

"Yeah."

"So you have a good night last night?"

"Not really."

"Sorry." Chris shrugged. "I mean… those parties suck."

"No kidding."

"You and Shawna looked awfully snuggly, though. Does Richard know?"

"If Richard thinks there's even a vague possibility of me doing anything with his ex, you know, _girl_friend, he's deluded."

"Whoa, I was teasing, chill out."

"Well, don't."

"Okay… Fine. Are you okay? I thought you said… back to normal and stuff."

"Yeah, well, I may have spoken too soon." He dropped his spoon into his bowl. "I'm not hungry. Catch you later."

"Wait, hang on!" Chris called. "What, last night you said we were fine and this morning you're… not fine."

"We weren't fine last night, Chris. We were… We couldn't _talk,_ not that you noticed."

"It was the first time you'd talked to me in a month and a half, I was startled! Of course it was weird. Come on, let's just… keep moving on. It'll get better."

"Sorry, I just don't think I believe that."

"Well, you did last night. So…" He trailed off. "What happened after I left?"

"You really don't get it, do you?"

"No, obviously I don't. What… What the hell did I do? I tried to be nice, we were getting along, we were _happy,_ and now you hate me again, so what gives?"

"It wasn't after you left, Chris," Alejandro said, taking a deep breath. "It was you leaving."

"Um?"

"With… Whoever she was. You just ditched me to go get laid."

"Well it's not like you and I were going to be heading off to the bedroom, so what does it matter?"

"What, it only would have mattered if we'd slept together?"

"You broke up with _me,_ Alejandro. _You_ broke up with _me,_ then you said we're friends, so why does it matter that I went off with someone else?"

"Did you miss the part of the conversation where I said I really was afraid you'd hurt me again? That if it wasn't for the fact that you ripped my heart out we'd still be together?"

"What?"

"This isn't going to work," Alejandro said. "I don't think that we're going to be able

to be friends."

"Why not?"

"Because—because every time I see you, it hurts! I thought it would stop but it didn't, and you just left with some girl who only wanted to sleep with you because you're a star, and you did it right in front of me, and you were pretty damn blatant about what you were doing, and it _hurt_. And it still hurts. And as long as you and I are both here, we can't be friends, because if we're friends I expect you to care a little bit, and to not make me _feel_ like this!"

"We broke up!" Chris repeated. "We—we broke up. You made it very clear that we were just friends. What do you want from me? You want me to be a monk so we can be friends? You want me to refrain from talking to girls, and for that matter, from boys who aren't in the band?"

"Richard was in the band," Alejandro snapped.

"So you want me to stop talking to anyone who's not you?"

"I don't—I don't _know!_ I just don't want to feel like this anymore. And every time I see you—I can't even look at you without thinking of you and Richard, or you and—and whoever it is you're running off with at the time—and it just _hurts!"_

"Alejandro, I… I never want to hurt you. I still… I would still… You think it doesn't hurt me?"

"What?"

"You coming up to me and saying, 'I miss you, I care about you, let's be normal, no, just friends.' And then I have to pretend that I'm being friendly when all I really want to do is…"

"Is what?"

"What do you think, genius?"

"I don't know what to think."

"Do I seriously have to spell this out, Alejandro? I am not over you. I am not even a little bit—I love you. I have loved you for months and never said it, and I screwed up and I have to live with that every day. And you think it doesn't hurt _me_ to just be _friends_ with you? I—Every time you say 'good morning' to me, I want to—I want _you_ and I have to pretend I don't. You think that doesn't hurt!"

"Of course it hurts," Alejandro said quietly. "But if you loved me, why did you…"

"How many times do I have to say, I was so drunk I didn't know _what_ I was doing, and we'd had a fight so I was angry and upset, and Richard—all I knew was that he was making me feel better. If I'd realized what I was doing, I wouldn't have!"

"Well, that's just not good enough." Alejandro shook his head. "Because if that's what you do for a minor fight, what about the big ones? What would we have done then?"

"I don't know," Chris said miserably. "I just—I just don't know. I messed up so badly and I lost you, and nothing will ever bring you back, will it?"

"I think I was wrong last night," Alejandro murmured. "Maybe we shouldn't be friends. It hurts us both too much."

"Maybe you're right."

"Then… Goodbye, Chris. I really…" He swallowed. "I really miss you."

"Me too."

After that, there was nothing else to say. Alejandro left the room, and Chris stayed, and neither one tried to stop the other.

* * *

Warming up for their show that night was about the worst thing Chris had ever experienced. He wasn't even angry anymore, just miserable. Now Alejandro knew everything, even what Chris had tried to keep hidden, and Alejandro still wanted nothing to do with him. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do to change it.

He didn't feel warmed up when they went on stage, and though he did his best to be upbeat for the audience, all he really wanted was to curl up alone in his room and be miserable.

The worst was the ballads, the love songs. People always complimented him on how well he emoted during those, but singing about losing his true love was hitting a little too close to home. He just concentrated on the audience and tried not to remember that the smooth bass voice was Alejandro's.

He managed to keep it together through the show itself and sat by himself during the break before the encore. He downed a bottle of water, changed his costume, and pulled his knees up to his chest.

"Everything cool?" one of the stage techs asked.

"Yeah, fine," Chris mumbled.

"Great, you're on in thirty. You should…"

He nodded and stood up to join the rest of the band, preparing to take their places for _Nobody's Puppet._ But he'd come to hate the song; there were just too many memories tied to it. Alejandro understanding how he didn't want to be a puppet anymore. Alejandro convincing them to sue Pulitzer. Alejandro helping him learn the dance, even when he didn't want to speak to Chris.

Thoughts of Alejandro clouded his head as they started. The screaming fans couldn't even drown them out. He got through his verse, the chorus, and Richard's verse, and they went into the bridge.

He landed on his left foot at the end of the first combination and realized it abruptly. He started to go into the jump, felt that he was off the beat, tried to compensate by getting his feet down quicker, jammed his ankle and his leg gave out.

The music went on, but Richard's singing stopped abruptly. Chris lay there, hearing the silence that had enveloped the whole arena.

"Chris!" Richard half-screamed, and it echoed through the speakers.

Chris looked down at his ankle. There was no blood, which was a good sign, but when he tried to wiggle his toes he couldn't feel them. He blinked a few times, and everything felt unreal.

Then a security guard was there, and a stretcher. "I'm sorry," Chris mumbled over and over, even after they'd taken his headset away and there was no way for anyone to hear him. And he didn't even know who he was apologizing to—the fans, the band, Alejandro.

He shut his eyes and figured that physical pain was as good a cover as he was likely to get, and felt his chest tighten as the first tear fell. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm just… I'm sorry."


	19. Nineteen

**Nineteen.**

Bryan Denton was pacing back and forth, and the band was a little bit nervous. He'd been, for the most part, a very kind and patient manager; he genuinely seemed to care about them and their success. But when Chris was rushed to the hospital, he seemed to lose a little of his cool; now, hours later and with Chris safely back in the hotel room (albeit with a bandage and ice on his badly sprained ankle) he was definitely not in a good mood.

"How's your ankle?" CJ asked charitably.

"Numb," Chris answered. "They said I shouldn't dance for a few days… I have crutches."

"So what are we going to do about our shows for the next few days?" Richard asked.

Denton turned sharply as he paced, now facing the band. "Well, if Chris can't dance, we can't really perform, _can_ we?"

"I can still sing," Chris said guiltily.

"But the show is the image, and the image is dancing. Besides, you get better press for bravely recovering than for putting on a half-assed show."

"Sorry," Chris muttered. "I didn't _mean_ to get hurt."

"And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride," Denton answered.

"What?"

"The point is, something has been wrong for awhile now," he continued. "And don't tell me it hasn't, because I _know_ you boys. I had hoped you'd be mature enough to sort it out amongst yourselves without me having to get involved, but apparently, that's asking a little too much." He glowered.

"Hey, come on—" Richard started, but Denton cut him off.

"I don't know what happened. I have a pretty good idea, but honestly, I don't _want_ to know. What you boys need to do is fix it. You've been fighting and you've been distracted, you haven't given one hundred percent to this tour—and that's unacceptable. It's showed all along, if anyone bothered to look; now that you're hurt, they _will_ be looking. You can't afford to let your personal lives distract you on stage. _You_ should know that, Chris."

"I do know!" Chris protested. "I miss-stepped. It's the same place I've always had trouble, I just can't get it right. I'm _sorry."_

"You can't get it right? Or you don't care enough to get it right? And now you being sloppy isn't just hurting the show, now you're actually _hurt._ You boys will find a way to fix this."

"It's not that easy," Alejandro said.

"I didn't say it would be, but it has to get done. Chris is hurt and I just canceled three shows. That is unacceptable. When you hired me, I said I expected you to give your all; that hasn't changed. _Fix this."_

There was a moment of silence, and finally Alejandro nodded. "Okay," he said. "I'll fix it."

"What?" Chris asked. "…How?"

Alejandro shrugged. "I'll do what I have to."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure yet," he said, and looked at Denton. "I'll get it fixed."

"Good. Chris…" Denton trailed off and sighed. "Don't screw up again, okay? We need you."

"Yeah, thanks for that advice."

"That's what you pay me for." He glanced at the band. "I've got some phone calls to make; rebooking these shows, working out refunds, all of that. I'll be in my own room if you need me."

The band nodded and Denton let himself out, leaving them to talk among themselves.

"So…" CJ said. "You gonna be okay, Chris?"

Chris shrugged. "My ankle will be fine. At least it didn't break."

Alejandro let out a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. "Don't worry," he said finally. "Everything will be fine."

"Alejandro…?" Chris asked, but Alejandro didn't answer him, just stared thoughtfully at nothing in particular.

* * *

When no one actually spoke, the band seemed almost to get along again. They were sitting around the hotel suite's common room, watching a movie on PayPerView. Even after two days, Chris still had his ankle elevated and was icing it, not so much because he thought it still needed it as he just didn't know what else to do. CJ and Nick were sharing a large bag of popcorn on the couch, occasionally ignoring the movie to gossip about CJ's latest date disaster—he hadn't been stood up, but she did disappear after the appetizer.

Richard was engrossed by the movie, which was fairly plotless but did feature a girl wearing a skimpy, torn dress as things blew up in the background. That was really all he required.

Chris watched the movie a little, but mostly he was glancing around the room at his friends and Alejandro, as depressing as it was that he couldn't put them in the same category anymore. Of the five, Alejandro was the only one who didn't at least make a pretense of watching; he was sitting over by himself at the side of the room, hunched over a thick textbook and writing something.

"Be right back," CJ said, and handed the popcorn bowl to Nick, who shrugged and tried to pay attention to the movie—but girls in skimpy, torn dresses did nothing for him, and he spent most of the time he watched rolling his eyes and compiling a mental list of plot holes.

CJ returned a few minutes later and paused at the side of the room, looking over Alejandro's shoulder. "Whatcha working on? Planning to take over Boogie like you did Pulitzer?"

Alejandro shrugged. "Nothing important," he said.

"Yeah?" CJ glanced down again, then frowned. "What the…" He paused. "What are you hiding in the textbook? Love letters?"

"Not quite." Alejandro laughed, but everyone could tell it was fake.

CJ reached down to pick up the piece of paper Alejandro was writing on, and Alejandro jerked it away and slammed the textbook shut.

"Okay, jeez, be that way," CJ sulked. "That's what a guy gets for taking an—" he reached down and snatched up the textbook, "—interest, ha!"

"CJ, don't—"

CJ pulled the papers out of the book and gaped, then turned to stare at Alejandro. "Were you planning on telling the rest of us about these?" he asked.

"Yes, if you'd given me a chance to," Alejandro said quietly.

"What?" Nick called. "Come on, spill."

CJ ruffled through the papers. "Application for undergraduate admission to, let's see… Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Columbia, Cornell… You do aim high, don't you, Alejandro?"

Alejandro shrugged.

"So you were planning on commuting an awfully long way to school every day, or what?"

Alejandro sighed. "I told Denton I'd fix things," he said. "This is how. And it's not like it was a secret—I had always planned to go to college, always. I was just… waiting for a good time to explain."

"Wait, you're quitting the band?" Nick asked. "You—you can't just _quit."_

"My contract is up at the end of the year," Alejandro said. "And this is… It's the only thing I can do. You'll be better off."

"With no bass singer? How!"

"You'll find someone new. I just can't…" He looked helplessly at Chris. "Something has to change to make things here _good_ again. And Chris and I… We can't be around each other. You all know that's true. So I'll go."

"Don't be a moron," Richard said. "Things between you two will get better."

"No, they won't," Alejandro said. "And if you don't understand, I'm sorry. But this is what I have to do for the band—and it's what I always wanted. It's what I worked for my whole life."

"But you can't just… leave," Richard said. "I mean—you can't just walk away from everything we've all done together. You _can't."_

"I have to. I'm sorry."

"But—"

"Am I wrong?" Alejandro asked. "I was going to tell you; I didn't want you to find out like this. But he and I _can not_ work together. Now he's hurt. It's going to get worse if one of us doesn't get out. You know I'm not wrong about that."

No one said anything for a minute, and CJ handed the book and the applications back to Alejandro. "It could get better," he said. "You don't know."

"I'm pretty sure."

"He's right," Chris said softly, sounding choked. "I know I can't… Keep this up."

"I'm sorry," Alejandro said again.

"But you never asked me," Chris said. "One of us needs to go… You never asked _me."_

"Chris, be real. You love this—you live for it. I'd never ask you to give it up. Besides, the band can recover from losing _me._ But you… You're Chris Ivers." He shrugged. "I wish I didn't have to go."

"So stay," CJ said.

"I can't. It's just too complicated—and it's ruining everything."

"But…" Nick frowned, which was something he didn't do very often. "Why can't you two just… I mean… You shouldn't have to _leave._ We need you here, we want you here. Please, you can't just leave us."

"If you think of any other option, I'd do it. But this is all there is."

"Do you have to decide now?" Richard asked. "I mean… How do you even know you'll get in to any of those schools?"

"I… Weren't you the one who said that I'd have the money to pay for it and an entrance essay no one else could match?"

"Well, yeah, but… You don't have to decide _now._ Maybe something will come up. And if you leave now, how will we finish the tour?"

"Of course I'll finish the tour," Alejandro said. "And you'll have enough time after to find a new bass singer."

"But no one else would be… _you,"_ Nick said. "I mean… won't you just think about it? Please?"

"Think about what?"

"Staying," CJ said. "Think about staying, seriously think about it. Things with you and Chris _will_ get better, they might hurt now, but they'll get better."

Everyone stared at Alejandro, who sighed. "I'll think about it," he agreed. "But if things stay like this…"

"Okay, good," CJ said. "Just think about it, that's all we ask. Jeez, when Denton said to fix things I _promise_ he didn't mean by quitting." He shook his head. "I think you're not as smart as we all thought."

Alejandro shrugged. "I'm smart enough to know when to bow out. I'm smart enough to know what's best for…" he looked at Chris, but said, "the band."

* * *

"So were they bringing us our coffee or what?" Chris muttered.

"So are you bitchy or what?" Nick asked.

Chris rolled his eyes. "Well, I would go get my _own_ coffee, but I'm only allowed off my _crutches_ for the duration of the show."

"That and you wouldn't make it out of the coffee shop alive," Richard mused. "Or clothed."

"What does that mean!"

"Well, _not_ that you would strip in the coffee shop, more that our insane fans who are waiting for the show would _freak out_ and tear your clothes off."

"He'd enjoy it," Nick said.

"I would not," Chris squawked. "Anyway, they're all in line; it's their middle aged mothers."

"I could see middle aged mothers attacking you," Richard said. "It's kind of an amusing image."

"Please stop picturing me naked now."

"Chris, babe, I've seen…" He glanced at Alejandro suddenly, and Alejandro rolled his eyes and shrugged. "…I've seen you naked. It's not quite as impressive as you probably would like to think."

"Hey!"

"So _do_ we have coffee, or what?" Alejandro asked. "I mean… I'm fine, but Chris without caffeine is never a pretty sight."

"So you're calling me ugly?"

"No, I'm calling you a caffeine addict, you egomaniac."

"Why is everyone mean to me?" he sulked. "Crutches! Feel bad for me!"

CJ rolled his eyes. "For the love of… _I'll_ go get our coffee; the middle aged mothers don't recognize me."

Chris batted his eyelashes. "I love you, CJ."

CJ shook his head. "I swear, at this point I've dated all of Nick's friends _except_ you." He groaned. "I am never, ever, ever going to meet someone."

"CJ, coffeeeeeeeee."

"Will someone please strangle him while I'm gone?"

"Gladly," Richard said.

CJ pulled on his coat and pulled the collar up, put on a hat and pulled it down to shadow his face. He was the least recognizable member of the band, but all the same, he was fairly famous and wanted to avoid as much shrieking and potential clothes ripping as possible.

Not that anyone really wanted to rip his clothes off. They really just wanted to get backstage to meet the _real_ stars. It was actually a little depressing.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, made sure he had his wallet, and started for the coffee shop. It was around the corner from their venue, and he took a back exit out which left him right by the door. It was crowded and it _was _a lot of middle aged mothers, much to his amusement; there were a few teenage girls, but he hoped they'd be on the lookout for Chris and Rich, not him.

He let himself in and got in line, which was rather long, and a minute later someone walked up behind him, talking on his cellphone, and knocked in to him. He was shoved forward against the girl in front of him. "Watch it!" he snapped to the guy on the phone, who was too engrossed with his conversation to notice, and turned to the girl ahead of him. "Sorry," he said.

"No problem," she answered. "I hate jackasses like that."

"Yeah, me too." He smiled a little, mostly thankful that she hadn't shrieked when she caught sight of his face.

"I guess it's crowded because of that concert." She half-laughed and pushed a strand of dark hair out of her face. CJ glanced at her eyes and caught himself before he started staring; they were very, very green.

"Yeah?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, my little sister is really into boybands. I can't really tell one from another, though."

He laughed. "Are you here with your sister?"

"No, my mom is, but I needed the car tonight so I dropped them off. Why, are you here with… someone for the concert?"

"Something like that." He held out his hand. "CJ."

"Alison." She shook his hand and her skin felt quite smooth.

"Uh…" CJ said. "So, um, would you think I was a freak if I offered to buy your cup of coffee?"

"Well, I might let you if you threw in a muffin with it."

"Deal," he said. "Nice to meet you."

* * *

"Jeez, CJ, what took you so long to get back with the coffee?" Chris demanded. "And… where is the coffee?"

"What?" CJ asked, then blushed a little. "Sorry, I… got distracted. Forgot to get it." He held up his hand, and a phone number was scrawled across it. "Nick, I don't think I'm going to need you to set me up again. Hopefully."

* * *

The nice thing about playing in New York was that there was _always_ an after party. Every club in the city clamored to have the boys drop by, and it was free drinks all night when they chose to. And, despite the presence of Chris's crutches, the New York nightlife was too appealing to pass up.

The club was loud, but at least the VIP room wasn't all _that_ crowded. Alejandro could see the rest of the band easily from his perch at the back of the room. CJ was fidgeting a great deal, pestering Nick. When Nick finally looked fed up, CJ hopped across the room to Alejandro. "Nick says I can't call yet but I think he's wrong. I mean, I don't want to call _late_ and wake her up, right?"

"I… I don't know? This is Nick's whole area of expertise."

"Yeah, but he says not to call!"

"And you want to call?"

"Yes!"

"Then… call?"

"But what if I look desperate?"

"You'll look like you sound?"

"Man, you got _mean_. I'm not desperate, she's just awesome."

"You talked to her for ten minutes."

"And she didn't know who I was! Isn't that great!"

Alejandro blinked. "Sure," he said.

"She didn't hit on me because I'm in the band, she didn't ask me if I could get her backstage, she didn't ask me for Chris's number, she just talked to me like I was a normal person or something."

"Boy, will she get over that when she gets to know you."

"Oh, you're just _hilarious_, Alejandro, I mean that. Should I call her or what?"

"I don't know? Go ask Richard."

"You suck and are no help. Fine. I will."

CJ hopped off.

Alejandro sighed and found a table to sit at. It was nice to see CJ so excited about a girl; he'd been growing more and more bitter lately. And he was a lot more fun when he was dancing all over the place than when he was moping.

Nick had returned to getting his groove on on the dance floor, and now CJ was pestering Richard, who was being good and drinking a bottle of water instead of a beer. That was a relief; at least Richard had been honest about kicking the alcohol habit. Unlike Chris, who had been downing shots with a group of hangers on since they'd arrived, and now looked like he was having trouble staying upright, even when sitting on a couch at the edge of the room.

Some girl was hanging on him, Alejandro noted, annoyed. He knew it was none of his business how much Chris drank or who Chris hooked up with, but the girl would _not_ stop touching him. It was a little disgusting, really; she was feeling him up, and he was too drunk to even return the favor, let alone stop her.

Alejandro looked around to see if any of the rest of the band had spotted this, but none of them were paying attention. Nick had found a cute blond to dance with; Ryan wasn't there, but Nick still liked dancing. And Richard and CJ were having a very animated discussion. CJ was practically jumping up and down.

He sighed. Taking care of Chris wasn't supposed to be his job anymore, but _someone_ had to make sure Chris didn't do anything stupider than normal. He began to drift towards Chris as subtly as he could manage, not wanting to look like he cared too much. Since he knew he _shouldn't_ care. He just… couldn't help it. No matter how much he tried to make himself stay away from Chris, he couldn't bring himself to stop caring, and to stop _liking_ Chris. And if only he really felt he could trust Chris again, he'd have let his pride go, and let the anger go, and _gone_ for it… But he didn't want to get hurt again. And Chris couldn't help but hurt him.

Like Shawna said. Chris was the center of his own little world, and maybe he really _didn't_ understand what would hurt someone else. He just didn't understand the concept of other people.

Chris didn't notice him getting closer, and he took a position down the wall from Chris, far enough that he didn't look like he was paying attention, but close enough to overhear if he concentrated.

"So, how's your ankle?" the girl asked.

"Sore… Real bruised," Chris said. "I can't… use crutches when I… I can't stand."

Alejandro rolled his eyes. Chris was too drunk to walk; Chris was _certainly_ too drunk to walk with crutches. Brilliant.

"I can help you walk, baby," she cooed. "You want to go somewhere? You want another drink?"

"Water," he said.

"Oh, don't be silly, _water?_ The night is young! I'll go get you another drink."

"I think I… I had enough…" he said.

"I'll be right back." She kissed him, though he didn't respond. "Don't go anywhere."

Chris let his head loll back against the couch. Alejandro wanted to strangle whoever this girl was, particularly when she returned with another mixed drink. "Here," she said. "Drink this."

He nodded and took a sip, then shook his head and tried to hand it back, but she wouldn't take it. "I'm gonna _puke,"_ he said, and added, "_Water."_

"Oh, come on," she said. "I thought you liked partying."

"'M partied out."

"Nah, that can't be right." She crawled on to his lap and turned to face him. "Everyone says you like to party."

Alejandro clenched a fist as she kissed Chris again, pinning him to the couch.

Chris pulled away as far as he could, turning his head away from her. "No," he said. "I wanna go… Sleep…"

"You can go sleep, Chris," she said. "I'll take you back to my place, you can get as much sleep there as you want."

_"No,"_ he said again.

"But, Chris, don't you _want_ to spend more time with me?" she purred. "Don't you think I'm attractive?"

"Yeah," he said, and she looked triumphant. Alejandro glowered; Chris had been doing so well at resisting her, but on the other hand, he was so drunk he probably didn't know _what_ he was doing. He might not even know who she was—Alejandro certainly had no idea. All he knew was that Chris was going to leave with some _floozy,_ probably puke in her apartment, and wake up with no idea where he was.

Which meant someone should step in and stop it. But Alejandro couldn't bring himself to move as the girl ran her hands down Chris's chest. He didn't know if he was really trying to protect Chris, or if he was just jealous. And Chris was an adult—kind of—who should be able to take care of himself.

Though that had always been asking a little too much. Chris could barely tie his own _tie._

The girl stood up and took Chris's arms to try and pull him to his feet. He stood for a moment, floundered, and fell back on to the couch, grimacing. "My _ankle,"_ he said.

"Oh, come on." She stamped her foot, frustrated. Alejandro smirked. "Do you want to go home with me or not, Chris?"

"No," Chris said.

"What!"

"I… I _can't,"_ he said.

"I'll take care of your ankle."

"I won't," he said. "'Cause… I… Alejandro's gonna _leave_, an' it's my fault."

"So, don't worry about him. I'm sure he can find someone for himself."

"No!" Chris said again. "He's not _like_ that an' I'd be happy if he found someone. 'Cause he should be _happy._" She tried to pull Chris up again, and he pulled away. "I don't wanna hurt Alejandro," he said. "I'm sorry. I can't… You should go."

"You are such a…" She trailed off, glaring at him. "And people say you like to have _fun."_

She turned and stomped off, not exactly steady herself, and Alejandro stared at Chris thoughtfully.

It wasn't as though he could suddenly trust Chris. He was drunk, it probably hadn't meant _anything._ He probably had just not wanted her and was using him as some sort of excuse.

Except that the last time he'd been drunk, he hadn't said no. He hadn't thought of Alejandro at all. And this was _different._

"Hey, sailor."

Alejandro spun around to see one of the other guys who'd been admitted to the VIP room behind him, wearing a painfully tight shirt and jeans.

"Hi?"

"You look a little lonely."

"I'm fine," Alejandro said.

"You sure about that? Why settle for fine when you could have _fun?"_ The guy grinned and Alejandro was a little bit taken in, he had to admit. It wasn't often that he got hit on, and even less often that he got hit on by members of a gender he actually _liked._

"I dunno, I'm kind of… not really looking for anyone right now." He shrugged.

"That's too bad." The guy smiled again. "I really like your voice. I have a thing about bassists. And I don't care what anyone says—you're the hot one."

Alejandro hesitated, a little flustered. "Well, thank you. But I think you're looking for Nick… or Rich…"

"No, I'm pretty sure I'm not." The guy put an arm around him; it was casual, but it had been a long time since Alejandro had been in anyone's arms. "Can I at least talk you into a dance? I mean, I've _seen_ you dance."

"That's all… choreographed," Alejandro said, as he allowed himself to be steered towards the dance floor.

"So what? You've got rhythm, I can tell. Besides, I want to be able to tell everyone that I danced with the hot member of the V-Tones."

"I'm really... not…" Alejandro sighed.

"One dance," the guy said. "And if that's all you're up for, I promise to stop bugging you. Of course, if you want _more…"_

"Okay," Alejandro said. "I guess. I could do _one_ dance."

The guy beamed at him. "Thanks. For a minute, I was afraid you might be straight or something."

"In this business? Are you kidding me?" Alejandro laughed. But it was bittersweet; he couldn't help but remember how Chris and Richard had convinced him he could join the band despite being gay. After all, they were both bi…

As the heavy bass pounded around them, he felt the man's hand on his waist and it didn't feel bad, exactly, just foreign. And the song had good rhythm, and before he really knew what he was doing, he was enjoying himself. He hadn't ever really just danced with someone.

"See, I said it wouldn't be so bad," the guy laughed.

"Yeah, it's kind of… fun…"

But as they turned a little a gap opened up through the dance floor, and he could see Chris, still sitting on the couch. Chris was watching him, transfixed, but the look on his face…

Chris hadn't wanted to hurt him. He knew that going home with someone else _would_ hurt Alejandro, and so he hadn't.

Alejandro stepped back from his dance partner. "I'm sorry," he said. "It was fun, I just… can't…" He glanced around. "There's Richard. He's single and _loves_ dancing. Promise."

Before the man had a chance to respond, Alejandro fled, casting another glance at Chris, who was still staring at him. He felt awful; he hadn't meant to have Chris notice him, he didn't want to hurt Chris. He really hadn't meant to…

He stopped at the bar and picked up a bottle of water, and hurried over to the couch. He sat on the end opposite Chris, not looking over at him. "Here," he said, holding out the water. "I thought maybe you could use this."

"Thanks," Chris said, accepting it from him. "That guy was hot."

"Yeah," Alejandro said.

"Why didn't you… He was into you."

"I know," Alejandro said. "But I just… I'm not that kind of guy."

"All kinds of guys _dance,_ Alejandro."

"You didn't care?" he asked.

"'Course I cared. But I want you to… be happy," Chris mumbled.

"He wouldn't have made me happy," Alejandro said. "Drink your water before I change my mind."

"Change it about what?"

Alejandro didn't answer aloud, but he glanced over at Chris, and groped for his hand in the dim light. Chris stared at him, then smiled, and drank his water.

"If you ever hurt me again, I'll kill you," Alejandro added.

"I won't," Chris said. "Ever. Promise."

* * *

Alison was pretty sure that if she heard another word about the V-Tones, she was going to strangle her sister. And her mother. She hadn't expected it from her _mother,_ who had only gone as a chaperone and thought the whole thing was ridiculous, but apparently the band members were just so _darling_ that her mother now loved them as much as her sister. At least, so Alison assumed by the armloads of merchandise they dropped in the car, which she was pretty sure wasn't all for her sister.

"So what did you do while we were at the concert?" her mom asked.

"I went to the library, like I said. And did my homework." She rolled her eyes. "And I kind of met a guy at the coffee shop, but I doubt he'll actually call me."

"Well, _we_ had just about the _best_ night ever. I'm so relieved they didn't cancel the show!" her mother said. "And that Richard is just _adorable."_

"Mom, _Chris_ is the hot one," her sister said.

"Well, I don't think his hair is really that blond. Does he dye it?"

"No! Mom!"

"No one is that blond," her mother said, as they clamored out of the car and into their apartment. Alison sighed a little and helped them gather up the posters and CDs and t-shirts, amazed her mother had actually spent so much money on some _boyband._

She deposited the stuff on the dining room table once they were inside, and her sister began pouring through it. "I wish I had his autograph," she said, and unrolled a poster. "See, Alison? Isn't he _hot?"_

She looked at the poster, a picture of the band dancing with smaller shots of each member individually at the bottom. They were all labeled with their names—as though their fangirls didn't already know their names, birthdays, and favorite colors.

"Which one?" Alison asked.

_"Chris,_ duh!" her sister said, pointing at the platinum blond in the forefront.

"I guess," Alison said, glancing down at the single shots. She recognized Chris from the TV and magazine covers, and one of the others, too—Richard, apparently. The other three seemed to be less popular and she couldn't have picked them out of a lineup.

"Do…" she squinted at the names, "Nick, Alejandro and CJ have any fans?"

"Only weird ones." Her sister rolled her eyes.

"Okay," Alison said, and started to walk towards her room, then stopped abruptly. The phone was ringing, but she ignored it and stared back at the poster.

CJ. His name was CJ and he was right next to the concert, and he was half-Asian and had spiky, dyed hair.

She looked down at the number written across her hand in black pen. It _couldn't_ be… That was ridiculous. And if it was… Oh, god. She realized she must have sounded like a moron, not knowing who he was, saying that she didn't even know who the band was…

Her mother picked up the phone. "Alison?" she called. "It's for you, dear."

"Who is it?"

There was a pause, then, "He says he met you in the coffee shop."

She stared at the poster. "Oh, god," she said. "I'll be… right… there." She took a deep breath, walked over to the phone and took it into her room. "Hello?"

"Alison? It's CJ…"

"Hi," she said. "So, it was nice of you to tell me you're, you know, _in the band,_ so I don't feel at all stupid now."

"You don't understand!" he said. "It was so… I mean, do you know when the last time I got to flirt with a cute girl was?"

"Well, all the time, I would think."

"Ha! If only! No, seriously, I have the _worst_ luck with meeting people, and it always goes horribly and actually meeting someone _nice_ who actually seemed to want to talk to _me_ and didn't even bring up Chris was, like… wow."

"Well, maybe if I'd known who he was…"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to… like, embarrass you or anything. I just… Kind of was hoping to get to know you a little _before_ you found out."

"Oh," she said. "Well… Okay… I guess that's reasonable. My sister would _freak,_ you know. And my mom is about to start a Richard whatever his name is fanclub. _That's_ embarrassing, she's forty!"

CJ laughed. "That's so not the most embarrassing thing we've seen. There was this woman—like, probably at least fifty—who threw her _shirt_ at Richard."

"Wow, that's…"

"Yeah."

"So with all those shirtless mothers around all the time," she mused, "why on earth would a famous guy like you want to flirt with a normal girl like me?"

"Well," he said. "You were cute… And nice… And didn't shriek in my ear. That's a big part of it."

"Should I pass on this advice to my friends? If you want famous people to like you, don't shriek in their ears?"

"It works like a charm," he agreed. "So, um… I was kind of thinking…"

"Yeah?"

"We don't leave town until two tomorrow afternoon… Maybe you'd like to get brunch or something?"

She smiled. "Yeah, okay. But if we see my mother anywhere near, I won't be held responsible for any articles of clothing she may shed."

"Well, is she as cute as you?"

"CJ!" She paused. "You think I'm cute?"

"Hmm… Let me think. I called you less than twelve hours after we met. Despite the fact that everyone said it would make me look pathetic and desperate."

"Are you?"

"Only a little bit. I'm glad you don't mind about me being in the band and all…"

"Yeah, I _guess_ I can handle going out with a celebrity, if you don't mind that I don't tell my friends. I mean, do you know how much they'd rag on me for going out with a _boyband member?"_

"Do you know how much my sister rags on me for being _in_ a boyband?" he countered. "I won't tell if you won't."

"It's a deal."

"So… eleven tomorrow?"

"Sure. I can't wait."

"Me, neither," he agreed. "Remind me to hate jackasses on cellphones a little less."

* * *

Chris's head was pounding when he woke up. He screwed his eyes shut immediately, as the light sent him in to sensory overload, and he wondered just how much he'd actually had to drink the previous night, and how he'd gotten home. He had _no_ idea about that; everything was a bit of a blur.

He groped for his glasses and pulled them on, squinted, and saw he was in a hotel room. That was a pretty good sign, but since they stayed in so many different hotels all over the country, it wasn't necessarily the _right_ hotel room. But at least there was no strange girl—or boy—lurking around that he could see, and it was clean.

And, he realized abruptly, there was a full glass of water and two Advil on the bedside table. He downed them gratefully, lay back on his bed, and waited a few minutes for the worst of the headache to subside.

He tried to remember what had happened, but it was all fuzzy. There had definitely been a girl. And a boy. He frowned, not sure what had happened with either one of them. And he had a feeling that Alejandro had been there… But that was probably just a tequila hallucination brought on by too much wishful thinking.

He glanced at his clock; it was almost noon. Which meant he had to get up. He groaned and pushed himself out of bed, and realized abruptly that he was wearing a pair of pajama pants. He glanced around for his clothes from the previous night and saw them folded neatly and sitting on a chair… Which was more than odd, since he didn't really bother to fold his clothes.

He shrugged it off and wandered into his bathroom to take a nice, hot shower. It helped clear some of the cotton from his brain, but didn't bring back any memories, unfortunately. But at least now he was pretty sure he was in the right hotel.

After the shower he dressed quickly, and, despite his churning stomach, was hungry. He sighed and prepared to hear about every embarrassing thing he'd done the night before in glorious detail—as his bandmates enjoyed sharing, and rarely waited for his hangovers to subside.

The common room of their suite was spacious and empty. He started for the phone to order in something from room service, then stopped. A plate of French toast and a glass of orange juice were sitting on the table.

"Is this some kind of practical joke?" he called out. "You guys being nice to me when I'm hung over? What gives?"

He sat at the table and regarded the food. Nothing _looked_ wrong about it. There was no obvious tampering, and it smelled okay, so he shrugged and started in on it.

Richard wandered into the room and raised an eyebrow.

"Was this yours?" Chris asked with his mouth full.

"Nope," Richard said.

"Oh." Chris shrugged. "So… where is everyone?"

"Well, CJ's on a date. He wouldn't shut up about this girl, I swear, it was sickening."

"CJ met someone he actually likes?"

"Seems that way. Don't you remember, he was freaking out about it all night."

"I… don't really remember much of last night."

Richard smirked. "Boy, are you in for a surprise."

"I am?"

Richard grinned. "Well, I could be mean and tell you it's likely to show up in the form of a rash on your inner thigh…"

"Oh, _god."_

"Or I could be nice and not tell you anything at all. I wouldn't want to spoil this."

"What?" Chris demanded. "What happened? What are you _talking_ about?"

"Yeah, not giving this one away."

"Did I do something dumb?"

"Don't you always?"

"What did I _do?"_

Richard patted his back. "There, there," he said. "I have to go find Nick, he won't

want to miss this."

"Miss _what?"_

Richard cackled as he walked away.

Chris poked at his French toast. He wasn't really hungry, now that he'd chowed half of it, and he was too confused to really care about eating. Someone had gotten him home, left him painkillers, folded his clothes and ordered him breakfast.

Which meant that either he'd done something right and no one was angry at him—someone was apparently even pleased with him—or he'd done something so horrible that he was being set up. And he honestly had no idea which.

"Um… Hey," someone said from one of the other doorways. He turned to look, but knew from the voice that it was Alejandro. And he was right; Alejandro was standing there, wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and Chris's heartbeat sped up.

"Hi," Chris said, amazed by how Alejandro could make a faded cotton shirt look

so good.

"So…" Alejandro trailed off. "How's your head?"

"Hurts."

"And your ankle?"

"My head is hurting too much to tell, so I assume it's fine."

Alejandro smiled a tiny bit. "Well, you did seem to be trying to drink the bar dry last night."

Chris groaned. "What did I do?" he asked. "I don't remember _anything._ Just some girl. Oh, god…" He looked guiltily over at Alejandro. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"You tell me, 'cause I'm sure I screwed up something pretty badly, but I don't _remember."_

"You really don't remember anything?"

"No… I'm sorry."

Alejandro shrugged. "I think I'm a little offended," he said.

"What?" Chris looked down at his breakfast. "_You_ got this for me?"

Alejandro nodded.

"And… the Advil and water? All of that?"

Another nod.

"So… I guess you're talking to me again?"

"Good call."

"Um… why?" Chris asked. "I'm sorry, that sounds awful, don't worry about it, I just… I'm glad you're… not angry at me or anything."

Alejandro took a seat at the table. "You really don't remember coming home from the club?"

"Not… really… At all. Should I?"

"Well…" Alejandro shrugged. "You spent most of the trip incoherent. But it was kind of sweet."

"What did I _say?"_

"That you love me… and you care about me… and if I give you a second chance, you won't screw it up. Ring any bells?"

"No? Um… What did you answer?"

"Let's see if I can remember…" Alejandro looked bemused. "That I love you too, and I care about you too much to let you go, and if you ever hurt me again I'll kill you. I'm pretty sure I said that more than once."

Chris's jaw dropped and his eyes opened. "Wait, like… Are you telling me we… um… got back together last night?"

"Well, I had _hoped_ you would remember that, but yes. We did."

Chris stared, and then it slowly turned into a wide grin. "How did I manage that? I mean, I can't believe… Alejandro, I love you. Even when I'm sober."

"Yeah, I know," Alejandro said. "I was serious about the killing you part, though."

"I'm sure I was very serious about the never hurting you again part, now that I think about it," Chris said. "Very serious."

"Glad to hear that." Alejandro gazed at him, smiling. "I missed you."

"I—"

"Kiss already!"

They both turned to see Nick staring at them, hands on his hips, and Richard behind him, laughing.

"Do you mind?" Chris said. "We're trying to have a moment, here."

Nick squeaked and covered his mouth, and Richard bit his lip to try and stop laughing. Chris hesitated and looked at Alejandro. "Can I?" he asked.

"Well, I'm not stopping you."

Nick squeaked again and they both glared at him. "Come on, buddy," Richard said. "Go call CJ and tell him the good news. And, bonus, you can interrupt his date."

"Ooh!" Nick agreed. "I do kind of owe him…"

"What?"

"Never mind. Come on." He started off and Richard followed, glancing back only once.

"Well, that was odd," Alejandro said.

"Less talking, more kissing!" Nick yelled. "If I can hear voices, you're not making out!"

"I don't think he's going to leave us alone until you kiss me," Alejandro said.

"Happy to," Chris answered, and finally pushed his plate away, turned to Alejandro and kissed him—just once, lightly, but Alejandro sighed a little, happily.

"I really missed you," he murmured and kissed Chris, pulling their chairs together in the process. Chris didn't answer, but he didn't have to. It was more than clear that he felt the same way.


	20. Twenty: Epilogue

Epilogue: Eight Years Later 

Generally speaking, the porch in front of Richard's pool was a relaxing place to spend an afternoon. It had become his and Shawna's favorite place to relax in the mansion; it was secluded enough to be private, and the backyard was well kept and scenic. Except that today, nothing could have relaxed Richard.

"Dude, have a drink and chill out," Ryan said, rolling his eyes. "Everything's set to go. It's all _fine._ What could go wrong?"

"Well, I left Shawna alone with my mother, so it's possible only one of them will come out alive. Which would probably be Mom. Which leaves me with no, you know, _bride._ Which makes the wedding kind of a bummer. Oh my _god_ the wedding is in," he checked his watch, "four hours and thirteen minutes, and I'm just _sitting_ here. I should be doing something!"

"Calm down," CJ said, glancing out at the people who were playing around in the pool He smiled and shut his eyes; sleep was a commodity these days. "I took care of everything. Promise."

"You farmed everything out to Nick," Richard said.

"That's what best men do. Anyway, it's all taken care of. Isn't it?"

"Well, I haven't seen the wedding cake with my own eyes yet, but Pierre said he's got it in the oven; the flowers are all taken care of; our tux fittings are done and they're laid out upstairs. All that's left is the ceremony. Which isn't for four hours, so relax, Rich."

"I can't believe I'm getting _married,"_ he said.

"Again," CJ added.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Third time's the charm, right, buddy?"

"It's not my third time! It's hers!"

"Which makes five marriages between the two of you." CJ shook his head disapprovingly. "You celebrities and your serial marriages. It can't be good for the kids."

"Shawna's kids love me!" Richard objected.

"Well, that's because they haven't gotten to know you yet."

"Thanks a lot."

"This is what you keep me around for," CJ said. "To keep you humble."

"I thought it was because you were a free-loader, but whatever."

"Hey!" CJ protested. "I have a job! Just because I no longer rake in a billion dollars per record deal doesn't mean I'm not working. Voice acting is _perfectly_ respectable." He paused. "Anyway, Alison's a doctor, so she'll take care of me in my old age."

"Speaking of which..." Nick nodded out towards the pool, and CJ sat up in time to see a very small bundle of energy in a bright pink swimsuit bounding its way towards the gathering on the porch. He held his arms out and she hurled herself into them.

"Daddy! Daddy, Mommy said you have to blow up my floaties 'cause she says

to say you're full of hot air."

"Clearly a marriage functioning at its best," Richard noted.

"Hush, you," CJ said, and accepted the pink and yellow plastic devices from his daughter. He began to blow one up and handed the other to Nick.

"You know, there was a time when you'd have made a few choice comments about asking me to blow on—"

"Nick!" CJ snapped, glaring. "Not in front of the k-i-d."

"Daddy, I can spell _kid."_

"Because you're a genius," he said.

"I sure am!"

Nick squeaked and grabbed Ryan's arm, and Ryan gave a long-suffering sigh.

"Ryan—"

"No."

"But—"

"No."

CJ finished with the floatie and handed it back to his daughter, and as soon as Nick had finished with the second one she pulled them on. "Mommy said to show you my cannonball! I'm gonna do it! Watch me!"

"No running by the pool!" CJ called ineffectively as she bounded off. But he watched diligently anyway as she jumped into the pool, sending up a good sized splash, and he kicked Richard for not immediately applauding.

"God, you are so _that_ dad," Ryan said.

"What does that mean?"

Ryan coughed. "How many pictures of her do you have in your wallet?"

"Do you want me to show them to you again?"

Ryan groaned and sank down on a lawn chair.

"Ryan, I _want_ one," Nick said.

"Darling, we've been through this. Our schedule wouldn't allow us to take the time that raising a child needs, it wouldn't be fair to the poor baby."

"But I _really_ want one."

"You can borrow Karen for a couple of nights," CJ said. "So long as I get her back in once piece. Alison and I wouldn't mind a full night's sleep… Or at least a night alone, sleep or not."

"See," Ryan said. "Having a small child means no sex. You wouldn't like that at all."

"But they're so _cute!"_

Ryan pouted. "You'd give up sex with _me_ for one of _those?"_ He gestured towards Karen and Shawna's two children in the pool.

"Karen is _not_ one of those, she's amazing."

"CJ, you're biased."

"So I'm proud," he said. "So what? She's only three and she's already able to spell kid!"

"Because you spell it around her all the time."

"She's still smart!"

Nick sighed dramatically, and Ryan mumbled, "Sure, you want one now, but I'm the one who's going to end up cleaning it and feeding it."

"I don't want a _puppy,_ darling. What if we had a son? He could marry Karen."

"Karen isn't allowed to date until she's thirty."

"CJ, hush." Nick pouted. "Ryaaaaaan."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"But think of how good it would be for our cause." Nick batted his eyelashes. "Gay marriage. Gay activists. Gay _adoption._ See the theme?"

"Except that with a child, we wouldn't have _time_ for any activism. We've been through this."

"You're no fun," Nick said.

"That's not what you said last night."

Richard sighed. "I hope I'm good with Shawna's kids," he said. "She's not sure she wants any more, so they'll be all I get."

CJ yawned and stretched out on one of the chairs. "Trust me, just one is enough to keep a guy busy. You'll already have two. Any more and you'd get put up for sainthood."

"But you do love being a dad," Richard said nervously. "Right?"

"Do you want me to show you the pictures in my wallet again?"

"No, that's okay, I get it." But Richard smiled. "I'm so nervous. I wasn't this nervous _last_ time."

"Well, you'd never done it before," Nick said. "And anyway… You know Shawna."

"Shouldn't that make me _less_ nervous? I wish she'd let me go check on her, but when I tried this morning she shrieked and locked me out of the house. She said it was bad luck."

"Well, given her track record, she probably wants to avoid bad luck as much as possible," CJ said. "I mean… _Wayne."_

Richard cackled. "I was ready to propose as soon as I heard she'd bankrupted him in the divorce settlement. _That'll_ teach a creep to sleep with a guy's girlfriend."

"…Yeah, eight years after the fact," CJ said.

"Well, whatever. Point is, Wayne is a backup dancer earning minimum and I'm marrying Shawna."

"And raising two of Wayne's children."

"Right, but I can't blame them for their father being a cretin. Besides," he smirked, "I get to be the fun, rich, awesome step-dad."

"Yeah, I'm not sure that's a healthy attitude," Ryan said.

"You'd understand if Nick had ever slept with Wayne."

"Unlike you, I had taste."

"Yeah, you slept with me," CJ said.

"I was referring to _Ryan."_ He coughed. "Swifty. Hey, did you ever explain that to Alison? Oh, wait, I bet she's figured it out."

"I don't think she's had any complaints in that area, so shut up."

They lapsed into silence, all watching the kids playing in the pool while Alison looked on as the lifeguard, enjoying the moment.

"So…" Ryan said finally. "Where's the superstar? You'd think he'd make the trip for his best friend's wedding, tour or no tour."

"He'll be here," Richard said. "I think. I mean, he got to the last one. Of course, he wasn't on tour then, but… still."

"Hey." A new voice joined the conversation, and they all looked around to see a familiar platinum blond standing in the doorway. "Like I wouldn't make it. Sorry I'm late, flight delay. Did Ryan just call me a superstar?"

"Oh, lord," Ryan muttered, as Chris stepped onto the porch, Alejandro and Rosalia close behind him. They were all already dressed for the wedding, despite the relaxed atmosphere of the porch.

"Chris!" Richard sprang to his feet to greet Chris with a quick hug, then Alejandro. "How's the tour going?"

"Ask him, I just perform like a good monkey."

Alejandro smiled. "We aren't selling out this time," he said. "Pop is on the downswing. But we're coming in above expectations, certainly doing enough business to make a living."

"Yeah, 'cause you two really need to be worried about that," Rosalia said, brushing her hair back out of her face.

"Rosalia!" Nick gasped. "Let me see the dress, honey. Oh, that's _gorgeous."_

"You are so gay," Ryan said.

"Yes, dear, I do hope you're not just figuring that out. However, I still can enjoy beautiful young ladies, can't I?"

"Just not _too_ much," Ryan said.

"I'll stop flirting with Rosalia if you'll agree to adopt."

"Roslia, that dress is hot," Ryan said.

"Wow, I don't want to know what that was about," she answered, but she stepped forward and did a slow turn, showing off the backless purple gown. It fit her well enough that her older brother was uncomfortable, but Rosalia at nineteen looked at least as good as her older brother had at the same age. Richard raised an eyebrow and CJ looked away from his daughter, which was impressive in and of itself.

"Hey," Alejandro barked finally. "That's my _sister_ you're undressing with your eyes, and you're married, and you're about to be married. So knock it off."

"You're no fun," Rosalia said. "And you _owe_ me."

"Actually, technically, Chris owes you."

She looked at Chris, who shrugged. "Well, I paid for the dress," he said. "Does that count?"

"And gee, I get to dance with the superstar and pretend we're _together."_ She batted her eyelashes. "Because it's not at _all_ creepy that you're 'dating' your manager's little sister—who you've known since she was _ten."_

"You used to bake me cookies," Chris said fondly.

"Yeah, that was before you were gay with my brother."

He batted his eyelashes. "But seeing you in that dress, I wonder if I chose the wrong Cortez sibling."

"Gee, when you say that I almost believe you haven't been sleeping with my brother for eight years."

"Okay, that's enough of _that,"_ Alejandro interrupted.

"How's college?" CJ asked.

Rosalia shrugged. "Well, thanks to Chris I got offered to pledge into every sorority on campus. But also thanks to Chris, I can't get a _date."_

"Good," Alejandro muttered.

"So…" She looked at Richard. "Nervous?"

"Why should I be?" he asked, his voice cracking. "I haven't even thrown up."

"Well. Huh. Okay." She gave him an odd look.

Ryan cleared his throat. "Come on, Rosalia, let's go make sure that Rich's mom hasn't killed Shawna or anything. I kind of think that we might want to give the V-Tones a moment."

"Aw, babe, you don't have to…" Nick said.

Ryan kissed him quickly, and glanced at CJ. "Stop putting thoughts of small children into his head."

"What was that about?" Rosalia asked as they walked back into the house, sliding the glass door shut behind them.

Alejandro and Chris took seats on the porch. Chris pulled off his tux jacket and tossed it over the back of his chair; Alejandro sighed disapprovingly and hung it neatly. "It's going to get wrinkled," he scolded.

"If you say so." Chris rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, you're twenty-five; you should know how to take care of your own clothes."

"Maybe if you didn't do it for him?" Richard suggested. Alejandro blinked, as if that idea had honestly never occurred to him.

"Please," Nick said. "As though Chris can do _anything_ without Alejandro. I swear, he can't even tie his own shoes on tour without his manager's help."

"Hey!" Chris objected, but not too strenuously. It was pretty much true, and since Alejandro had taken over managing his career as soon as he finally finished college, they were inseparable. They still booked two rooms in every hotel for the sake of the press, and Rosalia had kindly agreed to pretend to date Chris whenever someone got suspicious, but the two were no less married than CJ and Alison or Nick and Ryan.

"The kids look like Shawna," Chris eventually mused, watching the pool. "Good thing."

"Yeah," Richard said. "Well, they can't help it if their father is…"

Alejandro rolled his eyes. "You'd think that after all these years, you two would get _over_ hating Wayne."

"Well, maybe if you hadn't slept with him," Chris groused.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't slept with _Richard."_

"Right, I always forget that I always lose this argument." But Chris reached out for Alejandro's hand and intertwined their fingers.

"You mean to imply that you _win_ arguments sometimes?" CJ asked. "Seriously?"

"Hey, it happens." Chris paused. "Rarely. See, he has this spot on his neck…"

"Chris…"

"And one at the back of his knee. Man, when I discovered _that,_ I won arguments for weeks."

Alejandro glanced at him. "And when I found out about the sweet spot on your lower back, you gave me a four percent pay increase. What's your point?"

"You two have the strangest relationship," CJ said.

"You've never taken advantage of your wife's erogenous zones?" Richard asked, then added, "See, Nick, _that's_ how you can convince Ryan to adopt."

"Ooh!"

"I was kidding."

Nick grinned. "I _really_ want a kid."

Chris laughed and stretched out, loosening his tie—Alejandro would fix it later. He glanced around at his former bandmates, wondering how time had passed so _quickly._ It seemed like mere weeks ago that they'd been performing together, living together, and spending every day together. And even though the V-Tones hadn't toured or recorded in over six years, he didn't ever feel far removed from them.

Part of it was his image, he realized. Even with three solo albums under his belt, his fans would never forget that he'd started out as one of five. And though he was now the most successful one—or at least, he _thought_ so, but he was never sure exactly how much of his money he was paying Alejandro—he couldn't forget that he _was_ only one of five.

Richard had done fairly well for himself. He'd had one solo album do well, and one tank, but with the second album's failure he rediscovered a love of acting and had appeared in several movies. He was now a bankable name at the box office, and not having to perform live did wonders for keeping his anxiety levels low. And now that he was marrying Shawna Rivers—who, despite the odds against it, kept turning out successful albums—he pretty much had everything he'd ever wanted in life.

Nick had also released post-V-Tones albums, though not quite solo. Only a year after the band finished its final tour, he and Ryan had announced to the public that they were together. It had been a huge scandal and front-page news for _weeks,_ but the public got over it and they were praised from all quarters for their bravery. They'd released an album together, which sold well enough and had a little radio play; mostly, though, they were known for their roles as activists. There was a gay marriage amendment in the works, which was largely credited to their efforts.

CJ, on the other hand, didn't have much interest in staying in the public eye. He'd married Alison after a brief courtship—exactly five months—and Nick had been their best man. Despite the rumors, it wasn't because she was pregnant, it was because CJ had decided that there weren't as many girls out there as people assumed who could speak in complete sentences. She had no interest in celebrity, and so he'd let his own fame fade away; after a couple of years of adjustment, he'd done a guest-voice on an after school cartoon and put his voice to work again. He didn't show up in magazines, but had as much work as he could ask for—and had cut down on how much work he did significantly after Karen was born. He wasn't _quite_ a full time, stay at home dad, but he was close.

Finally, Chris looked over at Alejandro. He'd stayed with the band until the end, and stayed with Chris even after. He'd finally had a chance to attend college (though it had been a long four years with Chris on tour and Alejandro anchored to one city) and put his genius to work. With a degree in business under his belt and, in order to stay with Chris without it looking too conspicuous, had signed on as one of Chris's tour managers. But he'd turned out to be brilliant at it, and as Chris worked on his third solo album, Alejandro signed as his full time manager.

Nick had often pestered them to come out like he had, but neither one really wanted to. Alejandro was too private a person to want the media to go crazy with their relationship, and Chris's career required a little bit of mystique. He'd been linked to numerous Hollywood starlets, and was often seen out with Rosalia, and they had all been good for his career. But, despite its secrecy, their relationship was close to perfect. They balanced each other out and complimented each other almost perfectly. Even Nick had remarked that they were a little sickening.

Across the pool, Karen learned how to float on her back from one of Richard's soon-to-be step-sons. CJ looked on happily, and Richard looked on nervously, tapping his fingers with energy. Nick watched them too, longingly, and Chris was fairly sure that any day now there would be an announcement that Nick and Ryan were looking to adopt. Ryan just didn't have that kind of willpower, and Nick was determined. Alejandro also watched the children, bemused and relaxed; he didn't take time off very often, and he still missed his family sometimes. Chris knew he got a kick out of getting to play the uncle around CJ's daughter, and now Rich's step-sons. It made him feel closer to his band mates, like the family they'd formed was still strong, despite spending so much time apart.

Chris watched the four of them watching the kids, smiling lightly. Her half-laughed to himself as he thought, _Slow pan across our heroes as they watch their families together. Our protagonist reaches for his lover's hand and they relax, enjoying a calm moment at the end of their journey. Slowly fade to black. Roll credits._

_Fini._

**AN: We never really thought we'd finish this fic; we started it on a whim and abandoned it for close to a year. But with graduation looming we figured we should tie up loose ends, including the story, and so you may have noticed that this semester we went into overdrive. The story is approximately 90,000 words, which we suspect is about 140 pages single-spaced. All this from a, "Heeheehee. See, 'cause if they were child actors on Roundhouse like JC and Justin were on the Mickey Mouse Club, we could do this whole N Sync parody and Pultizer could be Pearlman and only we would get it! Ahaha."**

**Thank you for getting it.**

**Anyway, we love this story and had more fun writing it together than you could possibly believe. It seemed fitting to post the happily ever after chapter on our last night living together, the day we graduate from college.**

**Sappy, aren't we?**

**-signpost and studentnumber24601, who is, technically speaking, no longer a student of any sort**


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